The Beginning After
by athebeach
Summary: Series of one-shots about Cristina & Owen that take place after each episode of Season 7
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All characters are unfortunately property of ABC. No copyright infringement is intended – for non-commercial entertainment purposes only.**

**Author's Note: **First off, I have to thank my amazing beta Shli. She's awesome. This story is going to be a series of one-shots based on each episode of season 7. This chapter takes place after 7.01. Hope you all enjoy it. As always, I appreciate your feedback and reviews :)**  
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Owen looked back at his reflection in the mirror as he dried off his face and smiled, unable to contain his unbridled happiness at the sight of his platinum wedding ring flickering in the light. It never got old. _Married._ He still couldn't believe that Cristina was really his wife.

After spending two weeks in Fiji, courtesy of his remorseful would-be best man and now twisted brother-in-law, they had finally returned last night to the dreary rain of Seattle. He still lamented having to leave their luxurious beachside bungalow to return to work. The past two weeks had been the best of the life. The only thing better than their honeymoon was the fact that he had come back married to the love of his life – something he still hadn't stopped smiling about.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, his breath instantly hitched and his heart sunk in his chest. His wife was still sitting on their bed in her pajamas, nonchalantly flipping through her bridal magazines. A wave of sobering sadness hit him. He silently cursed himself for deluding himself into believing that she was getting better. He should have known better.

True, it was out of character for her to want to willingly go away for a honeymoon, but he had hoped that their time away from the hospital might do her some good and that she might be able to finally relax. After a couple days, it seemed that was the case; Cristina had begun to relax, and laugh, and even talk about surgery. And she had _never_ willingly talked about surgery since that horrific day. So he had thought that she was starting to heal. Clearly, he was wrong. _I should have known better._

He quietly walked into the room, throwing his shirt on. "Hey…you coming?" he softly asked.

"No," she replied, her voice flat and emotionless. She flipped another page.

Owen walked over to the bed and sat down next to her. "You sure?"

"Yes," she said without looking up, a single tear falling slowly down her face.

Owen felt his heart breaking for her. He slowly reached out, not wanting to startle her, and wiped the tear away. With his hand still lingering on her face, he gently cupped her face and tried to get her to look into his eyes, but she kept her eyes glued to the magazine's pages.

"Cristina," he whispered, stroking her hair, begging her to look up at him.

However, despite his efforts, she kept her eyes downcast and resumed leafing through the pages. "I'm not going in. I'm not…" she trailed off, the silent tears coming more steadily now. She finally looked up. The look in her red-rimmed eyes was a look he was unfortunately all too familiar with. All he wanted in that moment was to take all of her pain away, but he didn't know how.

Owen automatically reached for her, holding her close to his chest and stroked her back. "Shhh…" he whispered in her ear.

"I don't want to go," she painfully whispered back. "I can't go back in there."

"Shh…it's okay. Yes, you can."

Cristina shook her head against his shoulder. "No, I can't. I can't…"

"Yes, you can." Owen pulled back so he could look in her eyes, silently pleading for her to look back up at him. Finally, her eyes met his. "Cristina, yes you can." He nodded with a slight smile. "You can."

She glanced away again, sadly shaking her head.

Undeterred, he continued, trying a new strategy, "You don't have to go in an OR today. You can just work with me in the pit if you want. I'll be there with you the whole day."

Cristina looked back up at him. He could tell that she was torn between his offer and spending the day with her unnecessary magazines. He reached out to stroke the curls he loved so much. "Just come to work with me today."

Her gaze returned back to her magazines, and she flipped another page.

"Don't make me have to work with Kepner all day. She follows me around with a red notebook. It's…odd." While she didn't look up, his words caused her lips to curl into a ghost of a smile. He smiled back, happy with himself that he seemed to have broken through. "Save me?"

Cristina smiled and looked up, letting out a little laugh at his lame, pleading expression. _Whatever it takes_, he thought.

After a moment, she gave a little nod. "Okay."

"Okay," Owen whispered back, kissing her temple. "You get dressed, and I'll make breakfast."

"Pancakes?"

"Whatever you want," he replied, with a smile. With one last glance back to the bedroom to make sure that she was indeed getting ready, he walked into the kitchen, hopeful that maybe they had just made their first step to her getting better.

...

A week had passed and the only change that had occurred was that Cristina had replaced her bridal magazines with decorating ones. Despite Owen and Meredith's encouragements, she still showed no signs of wanting to go near an OR ever again. As the days passed by, Owen became increasingly impatient with Dr. Perkins and his "so-called" methods as he watched his wife silently suffer.

Finally, this afternoon he couldn't stand it any longer. Teddy's new squeeze or not, Owen had walked into the conference room and had told Perkins _exactly_ what he thought of his "therapy." When the trauma counselor had tried to defend his methods, Owen had told him that he could go screw himself (in so many words) and then had immediately gone to Dr. Wyatt's office to schedule an appointment. Cristina didn't need surgical clearance; she needed help. So he was going to take her to the one person that he knew could help her, the one person that he knew she'd talk to.

One successful session later, Owen found himself side-by-side with Cristina in front of a scrub room door with a simple set of instructions. No inane three-word sentences written on a piece of paper this time. Instead, just a simple instruction: walk inside the scrub room.

Wyatt had wanted Cristina to try it herself, but once Cristina had pleaded with him to not leave her, it would have taken an act of God to separate him from her side. Initially, when they had left the therapist's office, Cristina had wanted to immediately come down and get it over with. However, after several unplanned, meandering visits to the pit, his office, the cafeteria, the vent, the roof, and the hospital's bridge, Owen had taken it upon himself to make a little unplanned detour of his own to a small out-patient scrub room on their way to tour the Dermatology waiting room.

Cristina must have realized what he was planning because her steady steps instantly halted and she froze in the hallway.

He looked back at once. "It's okay. We'll just walk in there and then walk right out."

"We can just do it tomorrow. Why do we have to do it today? We can do it tomorrow," she nervously mumbled, her eyes frantically scanning for an exit.

Owen took a step back to meet her and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Just one step."

Cristina looked down and bit her lip.

"Just one. And then, we'll go right out. I promise."

He waited for a moment for her response. He knew exactly what she was feeling and going through: the unspeakable terror and anxiety of going back to the place where her trauma occurred could be absolutely suffocating. He would give anything to switch places with her right now. _Anything._ However, now all he could do was wait and hope that she would let him help her this way. Finally, she let out a shaky breath and gave him a slight nod.

Owen nodded back, giving her hand another squeeze. As he opened the door, she balked once again.

"It's okay," he said, taking a step inside.

She watched him, her breath beginning to noticeably quicken, and then tentatively followed him in.

Now that he had her in the room, he couldn't help but be proud at her courage of taking this small step, but he had no idea what to do next. Not wanting to pressure her – but not wanting her to leave the room quite yet either – he sat down on the linoleum floor.

"What are you doing?" Cristina asked, suspiciously.

_I have no idea_, he thought, as he patted the ground next to him, motioning for her to join him. He really hadn't thought this part through, but hopefully she'd go along with it. "Come here."

"What?"

"Sit with me," he said with an encouraging smile.

Cristina looked at him, her eyes darting to the scrub room door, clearly uncomfortable with the prospect of staying in the room one second longer. Just when he thought she was going to bolt, she took a deep, shaky breath and sat down next to him.

"Now what?" she asked.

"We just sit," he replied, rubbing her leg soothingly. Not much of a "plan," but so far it was working. She was still in the room.

An uncomfortable silence descended among them. He could feel her slightly shaking from the anxiety and tension radiated from her.

"Did I tell you that Steve called me yesterday?"

Cristina looked up at him, shaking her head, clearly perplexed by the randomness of his question.

_Hey, anything to distract her_, he thought. "Apparently, they went camping last weekend and they ran into a—or should I say—Steve ran into a bear."

"I_ told_ you that there were bears up there. You didn't believe me."

Owen smiled at her response. He raised his hands in mock surrender, "I stand corrected." He chuckled, before continuing. "Apparently, in the middle of the night, Steve had to go to the bathroom. It was so dark that he couldn't find the actual campsite bathrooms, so he figured that he'd just go out in the woods. So, ol' Steve walked out into the woods to get some privacy. And then the second he dropped his pants, he heard a branch snap behind him, and he turned around and there was a bear standing behind him."

A little smile appeared on Cristina's face. "Seriously?" she asked, raising her brow.

"That's what he told me. So, I guess once he saw the bear, he made a mad dash back to his tent with his pants halfway down his legs. He was in such a rush that he ran right into his tent, knocking it over – with Helen in it – all the while screaming, 'Bear! There's a bear!'"

Cristina softly laughed and Owen mentally high-fived himself for remembering the story. He continued, "So Helen wakes up, understandably pissed, as Steve tries to drag her out of the tent and to their car while screaming, 'Big bear! Really big bear! It's gonna eat us!' But instead of letting him take her to the car, Helen slapped Steve across the face because she thought he was sleepwalking and dreamt the whole thing up."

Cristina laughed harder, shaking her head in amusement. "That didn't happen."

"No, I swear it did. In fact, the reason he called me was because he wanted you to call his wife and tell her that there really are bears in that forest, and he wasn't making it up. Helen apparently still thinks he's full of shit."

She smiled, still laughing. "Okay. I will."

Owen smiled back, happy to just see her smile and semi-relaxed. He could feel that her shaking had finally stopped. Emboldened by his little victory, he wanted to try one more thing. "Want to try and wash your hands in the sink?"

His question instantly silenced her laughter and her tension immediately returned.

"You don't have to look in," he assured her.

Cristina nervously chewed on her lip. "I don't know."

"Just try. If you want to stop, we'll just leave. Okay?"

After a moment of contemplating his request, she took a deep breath and nodded. Owen could tell that she was trying to brave, and it nearly broke him. Before she could make a move to get up, he reached into his pocket and handed her the little box he was carrying with him.

"What is this?" she asked, opening the jewelry box to reveal a thin, silver chain.

"For your ring," he explained

Cristina looked back at him with a furrowed brow, confused.

"For when you scrub in. You can't wear your ring, so you can put it on the chain."

"But I'm not—" Cristina quickly corrected, her breath rate increasing.

"I know," he reassured her, squeezing her hand. _Okay, so _that_ was a bad idea_. _Nice going there, buddy._ Quickly regrouping, he tried to calm her, "It's okay. We're just going to wash our hands and then we'll leave. That's it. Okay?"

He was pretty sure he had blown any opportunity of getting her to try and wash her hands, but she surprised him by quietly replying, "Okay."

He made the first move to get up and helped her up off the floor. He reached over to turn on the faucet, but quickly noticed that she was frozen in place beside him, her gaze fixed to the floor. "You okay?"

Cristina silently nodded back to him and hesitantly put her hands under the water.

Once under the steady stream, Cristina made no move to actually wash her hands, so Owen took his wife's hands into his and slowly tried to knead the tension out them as he washed them for her. He didn't want to prolong her discomfort any longer than was necessary, so he quickly went about his task. After a couple minutes, he could tell that she was at nearly her limit, so he shut off the sink and gently dried her hands. "There," he said, giving her hands another squeeze.

She gave him an appreciate smile, her gaze never venturing near the OR in front of her.

Incredibly proud of what she had accomplished today, he smiled back and said, "Okay, let's go," taking her hand once again into his and guiding her out of the room.

...

What had started as a once-off success had quickly turned into their daily routine. They would come into the rarely used scrub room, sit on the floor, talk about their respective days, wash their hands, and then leave. After six days of telling her stories, Owen had been forced to call up almost all of his friends and even interrogate Callie for all of the latest hospital gossip to ensure that he had new material to distract her with each day. _Whatever it took._

Cristina turned her head and held out her hands expectantly with her silver chain held in each hand. Owen automatically took the chain and secured the clasp, but not before taking an appreciative look at the back of her neck.

With her ring secured around her neck, Cristina stood up and waited for Owen to start the faucet, which had also become part of their routine. However, this time she reached for the soap and washed her hands herself. _That was a first_, he thought.

"Okay, I washed my hands. Let's go."

Owen looked over at her, continuing to wash his hands, stalling. "There's no one in there."

Her eyes instantly darkened and she nervously looked down at the ground.

"It's just an empty room," he continued, taking a quick glance into the brightly lit room. Also, per routine, he went in the OR beforehand and turned on all of the lights to ensure that absolutely everything in the room was bathed in the bright light. "You can check. Just a quick look. You–"

Without preamble, Cristina looked up into the room for a second and then glanced immediately back down, her chest heaving from her nervous breathing.

"There," he said, leaning over to tenderly kiss her on her forehead. "That's all. See? No one's in there."

She silently nodded back to him, taking a deep, shaky breath.

"You don't have to worry. I'll never let anyone ever hurt you again," he whispered.

He reached over for her hand, and she grasped it with surprising strength.

"Want to go?"

"Yes," she whispered.

Owen nodded and whispered back, "Okay," giving her hand another squeeze and turned to leave the room. However before he fully turned, he spotted Cristina take another glance into the OR. He felt a surge of pride at her courage. _That's my girl_, he thought to himself and led them both out of the room.

...

Owen pressed the small button and felt the familiar whoosh of the air blast from the scrub room doors. He looked back, and saw Cristina visibly gulp at the open door. "It's okay. There's no one in here. It's just the two of us."

This he had made absolutely sure of, especially since they had "graduated" to an actual operating room on the surgical floor. He'd enlisted the help of his twisted sister-in-law and Derek to guard the doors to the OR and the gallery so they would have complete privacy.

He waited for Cristina to walk towards him. After a productive session with Dr. Wyatt, she'd told him that she wanted to do this today, but her heavy panting and nervous glances made him think that maybe they should wait. "You sure you want to go in?"

Cristina quickly nodded. "You first," she said, pressing herself up against the wall.

Distraught at seeing her in this much distress, Owen walked over to her and blocked her view of the OR with his body, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. "Shh…it's okay." She looked up and gave him a slight smile, but he waited until her breathing slowly returned to normal. "Hey, look at me." Her eyes locked with his. "Just watch me. You don't have to walk in. Just watch me. Okay?"

Cristina nodded, and he slowly backed away, his eyes never leaving hers. As he walked though the scrub room doors, his memory of Clark holding a gun to her head flashed before his eyes. It was something that happened every time he entered an OR since that horrible day. Not that he would tell Cristina about this yet, he'd only spoken to Dr. Wyatt about these memories. And as per her instructions, he rubbed his wedding ring between his fingers, reminding himself that she was still with him; that they had lived.

He looked back at his wife through the scrub room glance and gave her an encouraging smile, which she tentatively returned. He walked around the room, keeping a close eye on her, proud that she kept eye contact with him the entire time. After circumnavigating the OR, he walked back into the scrub room and held out his hand. "You want to come in?"

Cristina made a move to place her hand in his – but paused, unsure.

"Just one step. That's all. Then we can go right back out. And we can leave whenever you want. No one's coming in." He could tell that she was beginning to question her decision to try this, so he tried to reassure her more. "We don't have to walk in right now, either. Take as much time as you want. We can be here has long as you need."

Owen held his breath. He was pretty sure he had just oversold his case, but suddenly Cristina reached out and grabbed his hand, causing him to sigh in relief.

He paused, waiting for her make the first move towards the doors. Finally she walked by him and stepped into the OR. He smiled and gave her hand a squeeze, running his thumb against the back of her hand.

Cristina looked up and smiled as she took another step into the OR, but then quickly backed up against the wall, her breath suddenly escalating.

Owen was immediately by her side. "Shh…it's okay," he tried to reassure her. However, his simple platitudes weren't working, and he could tell that she was escalating into a full-blown panic attack, so he quickly guided her back into the scrub room.

"I can't do this," she brokenly sobbed into the nook of his neck.

He held her tighter, trying to will her demons away forever. _She doesn't deserve this_, he thought. "But you did. You walked in there," he said, stroking her back.

She shook her head at his observation, her tears quickly soaking his navy scrub shirt.

"You're doing great," he whispered into her hair. "Today we walked in. Tomorrow we'll walk in a little further. There's no rush. It doesn't matter how long it takes. You have a lifetime to operate. Right now, you're allowed to take as much time as you want. No one is pressuring you. I know how hard it is. How it feels like you'll never get any better. But you _are_ getting better. You may not see it, but I can." Owen pulled back so he could look at her, wiping the tear on her cheek away with his thumb. "I'm so proud of you, Cristina."

Cristina bit her lip, bravely blinking back more tears.

"And you can take as much time as you want. I'm going to be there every step of the way with you. Okay?"

She nodded her understanding, her breath shaky in her attempt to get it under control. "I want to go now."

"Okay," Owen nodded.

She forcefully wiped her tears away, removed her wedding ring from the thin chain and jammed it back onto her finger. Without looking back, she exited the room.

...

"We look ridiculous."

Owen looked over at Cristina and laughed. It had taken a month, but they were finally in the OR, fully scrubbed in. All that was missing was a person to operate on.

"Like seriously…I can't believe you talked me into this."

"Oh, come on. We're dressed for the occasion." She raised her eyebrow and gave a knowing glance towards the empty operating table. _Yep, his Cristina was back_. Playing along, he added, "Now, if we were _naked_, then we'd be–"

"You have that fantasy, too?"

"What?"

Cristina shrugged, but not before giving him a _very_ suggestive look. "Oh, nothing."

_Well, if she was going to go_ there_, hell, might as well go along with it, right? Why not make a good memory in the OR_? "Hey, I'm all for it. We have guards at the doors."

She paused, as if she was considering the idea, but then shook her head. "No, we can't. Not that I don't want to just…Okay, so what now?"

"I return this to you," Owen said, holding out a scalpel.

Instantly sobered, Cristina made a move to take it from his hand but then pulled back. "I don't…"

"It's okay," he reassured her, placing the scalpel back on the table. He chastised himself for moving too soon. Quickly changing tactics, he jumped up on the operating table, obviously surprising her. _Humor me, Cris?_ he thought, patting the spot next to him for her to join. She paused, giving him her patented "what the hell are you doing?" look but finally hopped up beside him.

Not knowing what else to do, they sat in silence side-by-side, until Cristina finally spoke.

"I used to love it in here. Now, I just…I can't…I…" she trailed off.

Her painful admission cut deep into him and he reached for her hand. "You will again. You're my cardio goddess," he said with a smile.

Cristina shook her head and looked down at her lap. "Not anymore," she said, sadly.

"Yes, you are. It never went away. You're still you. You're still the amazingly brilliant surgeon that you've always been. And you're still the extraordinarily brave, compassionate, and loving woman. The woman I knew – from the very first moment – I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. You didn't change. You're still you."

"Then why doesn't it feel like I'm getting better?"

"You are. Two weeks ago, you couldn't look in here. Now we're sitting on the operating table, fully scrubbed in, ready to perform surgery on Casper."

His attempt at a joke fell flat as she kept silently staring at their intertwined hands. Finally, she hesitantly asked, "I'm going to get better…right?"

"Cristina, when I first came back, I was broken and a ghost. I never thought I was going to get better, but you brought me back. _You_ put me back together again. I'm the man I am today because of you. And I promise that I'll do whatever it takes for you to feel better again. You'll get better. I promise." He paused, looking into her eyes, willing for her to believe him. "And when you feel better you'll be right back in this OR winning more Harper Avery's than we can put on our shelf."

He waited, hoping that she believed his words.

"I don't want to be simple," she softly said, under her breath.

Owen smiled. "I don't want you to be simple either." He stroked her cheek. "Because, Cristina, you're extraordinary."

She smiled back. "Thank you."

Owen watched as Cristina glanced back down at the sharp, metal instrument sitting on the table next to him. Finally, she smiled to herself and looked back up at him, holding out her hand.

"Scalpel."

...


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: All characters are unfortunately property of ABC. No copyright infringement is intended – for non-commercial entertainment purposes only.**

**Author's Note: **This chapter takes place after 7.02. I also have to thank my amazing beta Shli.

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She'd lied when she'd said that she couldn't feel.

She could feel. Every time she thought about surgery or being in an OR, a sickening, heavy, pressing feeling descended upon her. She felt as though she was in a maze that she couldn't escape. Every time she thought that she'd finally found the way out and turned a corner, it only brought her face-to-face with yet another wall.

Her old self would just shrug this feeling off, to "get with it" and toughen it out. Now she wasn't sure if she could—if being tough was even an option for her anymore. She didn't know what to do. She'd never doubted herself before. Maybe if she gave up, the pain would go away. Maybe if she gave up, this feeling—this constant, overwhelming feeling of helplessness and despair—would finally go away.

Cristina closed her eyes and leaned against the cold car window, listening to the rain pelting the windshield and the _whoosh_ of the cars driving through the rain-soaked streets.

She could sense that Owen wanted to reach out and touch her. A part of her wanted him to. A part of her wanted to hold his hand, reassure him that she was okay…

She held back. As she stared out the window, she felt an overwhelming need to be alone. But, as of twenty-two hours ago, this was no longer an option. Her old self would have laughed at the irony of the situation; but now she just sat in silence, numb, watching the cars pass by.

This wasn't how this was supposed to go. This wasn't how her marriage was supposed to start. It was supposed to fix her. She was supposed to be better.

"We can go somewhere else if you want."

Cristina looked over, noticing that they had finally arrived at her apartment. She really didn't care where they went. This place was as good as any. All she wanted to do was to curl up in their bed and try to forget this day had ever happened. Without replying, she unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car.

When they reached the door, she could hear the distinctive voices of Sloan and Callie coming from within the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Owen give her a look of concern, but she really didn't care who the hell saw her. What she _didn't_ want to do was stand out in the hallway for a moment longer, so she took the initiative and opened the apartment door to reveal the drunken duo on the couch.

Without so much as a glance at the twosome, she walked straight to their bedroom and closed the door. She could hear Owen quietly talking with her roommate and her drunken best friend as she mindlessly undressed in the dark room, leaving a trail of clothing to her side of the bed.

She got into bed and closed her eyes, listening to the negotiation going on in the other room. Finally, she heard the front door open and someone leave. She assumed it was Sloan and Callie, judging by the sudden silence in the other room. A bright light suddenly flashed red in her closed eyelids, and she instantly relaxed her body and breathing, feigning sleep. She knew Owen would want to talk or hold her or…something. She wasn't ready for it. Maybe tomorrow. Tonight, she wanted to be left alone.

The bed shifted as Owen got into bed. She knew he knew she wasn't asleep, but he played along and tried to not disturb her as he slipped under the covers. Once he settled in, she felt him reach for her, but she slightly shifted away just out of his reach. She needed to be alone.

…

Cristina couldn't fall asleep. Every time she shut her eyes, she would flash back to a memory of one of her now dual OR nightmares. The worst part was that she couldn't control it. Whenever she would try and remember it, she couldn't—it was just a black void. And then out of nowhere, she'd remember. The anticipation of waiting for the next attack or memory was making her restless. It made her want to literally shed her skin, to get out of this suffocating cocoon of her mind and start anew.

She looked over at the clock. Its red letters mockingly glared 2:45 back at her. She stared up at the ceiling, with its patched-over hole that used to be her ceiling fan. She couldn't stay in this bed. She needed to go do…something. She just needed to get out of here.

Cristina waited, listening to Owen's breathing, making sure he was indeed asleep, and then slowly inched out of bed. As she stood up, a shiny glint of metal reflected in the corner of her eye, catching her attention. She looked down at the source of the light and her breath caught in her throat. _Her wedding ring_. All of the sudden, a nauseous, guilty feeling came rushing over her as she looked down at her ring that Owen had placed on her nightstand.

The truth was that she _could_ feel. She was lying when she'd told Owen that she couldn't. She just didn't _want _to. Right now, she simply felt too much: too much pain, too much fear, too much sadness. All she wanted to be was numb. She'd give anything to be unable to feel.

Her eyes stung as she stared at the platinum band. She tried to blink the pain away, only to have silent tears fall down her cheeks once again. She had to get out of here. With one quick glance at Owen's sleeping form, his arm outstretched towards her side of the bed, she quietly picked up the ring and slipped out of the room.

…

Thankfully, the only traces of her roommate were a nearly empty bottle of wine and half a dozen paint swatches on the table. _So, I guess _we're_ the ones who drew the short straw for who had to move out of the apartment. Thanks for telling us, Callie._ It was probably that girlfriend of hers, anyways. Cristina could tell that Arizona had been eyeing the décor for weeks now. _Just wait 'til she finds out that I wasn't the one who decorated it when she tries to change it._

A flash suddenly lit up the dark room and Cristina instantly froze, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. A grumble of thunder sounded in the distance. She blinked, expecting the paralysis she experienced in the OR but quickly realized that she could still move. Without thinking, she slipped her wedding ring back on her hand. Even though, clearly, it hadn't fixed her, just feeling the coldness of the metal in her palm and knowing what it meant comforted her.

She sat down on the couch. She didn't know what to do. She didn't want to go back to bed even though she was exhausted. She didn't want to eat anything even though she was starving. She could read, but her only source of reading material were her stacks of medical journals in the corner, and those were the_ last_ things she wanted to read right now. The only mindless activity that she figured she could do was to watch TV, but then, she couldn't do _that_ because she didn't want to wake Owen and let him know that she couldn't sleep.

So after getting up and down several times, Cristina finally gave up and curled up with her blanket on the sofa to watch the storm outside.

Left alone with her thoughts, Cristina felt the sense of hopelessness returned. It was if she was adrift in a stormy sea with no way to stay afloat. Getting married to Owen had only proved to be a small piece of driftwood when she'd thought it'd be a lifeboat. She glanced back down at the ring and swallowed the lump in her throat. It really wasn't his fault. She knew he was trying. It was just…she'd trusted him. She'd thought that he would've known the way to fix her and he hadn't. So she'd taken everything out on him.

This wasn't how their marriage was supposed to start. She was supposed to be happy, so annoyingly happy that people would roll their eyes when they passed by. Instead, she was falling apart, and she didn't know what to do. Owen had said that he would stay, that he wasn't going anywhere, yet there was a part of her that was afraid that he'd leave once he saw how broken she was. Everyone she'd ever loved had left or had been taken away: her father, Burke…it was only a matter of time.

_It wasn't fair._ Her feeling of hopelessness was quickly interchanged with anger as the lightning flashed again, illuminating the room. It wasn't fair that this was happening to her. _Why am_ I_ the only one who had to come out of this so screwed up? _She should be the front-runner, the cardio goddess, the person who all the attendings begged to work with and the one who interns looked up to in awe. Now she was the resident that hid under tables. If that bastard was still alive, she'd go and shoot him herself for doing this to her. It just wasn't fair.

She didn't know how long she'd been on the couch when she heard the bedroom door creak open and saw Owen emerge from the room. His eyes, full of concern, never left hers as he made his way over to her on the couch. He paused for a slight moment before sitting on the opposite side of her, leaving a space between them.

They sat in silence on opposite sides of the couch, watching the rain pelt against the windows. The storm was getting worse. Cristina looked over and saw that Owen's gaze was still fixated on her. She could tell that the silence was killing him. Even though he was sitting quietly, waiting for her to talk, his eyes betrayed his need to want to do or say something.

The thing was, she didn't know what to say or where to even begin. Only two words came to her. The same two words that had she'd wanted to tell him since she'd left him alone in the locker room.

"I'm sorry."

Owen shook his head. "You don't have to apologize."

"I—"

"Don't. It's okay."

Once again, she felt her eyes fill with tears and she looked away out the window, quickly wiping them away.

"When I said I didn't feel…I didn't mean…"

"I know," he softly replied. "I know."

She looked down at the couch. "How long did you feel…like this?"

"A long time," he paused, gesturing with his hand. "But then, I was in denial for a long time, too. I should have gotten help as soon as I got home, but I thought I'd get better on my own…Instead, I hurt you. It wasn't until I got help that I felt better. And I _have_ gotten better," he nodded. "And you will too. I promise."

She sat quietly and resumed staring out the windows, contemplating his words. "Did it ever happen to you?" she finally whispered.

"What?"

"The…the…" Cristina shook her head and mumbled, "You know…how I—"

"Yes."

His immediate response surprised her.

"Several times."

Lightning flashed again, but this time she didn't react. She wanted to ask him about it—his own episodes—but then she didn't want to drudge up the past and make him feel like she did now. No sense in having them both screwed up. After a moment, she sensed that he was waiting for her question, as if he wanted her to ask.

"What happened?" she whispered.

"A couple days after the RPG ambush on my unit, a huge mass casualty came into camp. After the loss of my men, there weren't enough doctors to operate, so I stepped in, even though I wasn't cleared. While I was operating, a car backfired outside our tent and I hit the deck—couldn't move. I can't really remember what happened afterwards. I vaguely recall people yelling my name and being dragged from the room, but…I really don't remember it. What I _do_ remember was that it was terrifying," he paused, lowering his voice. "That was the first time it happened to me. Shortly afterwards, I was discharged."

As though he knew where her mind would take her, he quickly added, "I wasn't fired, though. They didn't fire me because of the episode. It was because of what happened to my unit. It was my last tour, anyways."

His addendum did little to quell the anxiety bubbling in her. His talk about being discharged—_fired_ as far as she was concerned—only amplified her worry that her collapse today would have ramifications for her in the program. She waited, wanting to ask him the question she'd been asking herself all evening, but too scared to say the words aloud. Finally, she blurted out, "Did you ever think that you'd never operate again?"

Owen paused, thinking about her question, before replying, "Yes."

Cristina immediately tensed. His truthful admission took her off-guard. She'd thought she wanted the truth, but she wasn't expecting him to actually _say_ it. She'd wanted to hear the lie.

"Getting post-traumatic stress is actually very common over there," he explained. "I saw it all the time in soldiers who I worked with and operated on, but I never thought it would happen to me. I thought that I was immune to it. So when I was sent home with an 'honorable' discharge because of it, it was devastating."

He paused, never breaking eye contact with her. "You see, it's a long flight back from Baghdad. _Long _flight. And while I was on it, I couldn't sleep—didn't want to. I didn't want to experience the hell that I was leaving in my dreams, so I stayed awake and thought. Thought _a lot_. Thought about what I was going to do, where I was going to go, and if I could still do this. If I could still be a surgeon. And for a while on that flight, I didn't think I could. I convinced myself I was done. That I would never step in an OR again. And then I remembered you.

"Something about you made me feel safe. Even though I didn't know you well, I felt like you were someone I could go home to. Someone who wouldn't judge me. Someone who wouldn't care that I was changed. Plus, I figured, if I was going to start somewhere new, I might as well start somewhere where I knew someone. Someone who I could hopefully get to know a little better. Even if that person had thought that I'd forgotten her name or the kiss we'd shared."

Cristina smiled.

"The catch was that if I was going to come back to you, I had to be a surgeon. Otherwise, I couldn't see you. So, actually, you kind of made the decision for me." He smiled back at her, his happiness creasing his eyes.

"Of course, choosing to come back and be a surgeon turned out to be the easy part. First couple days back weren't too bad. Sure, I got hell from you and Stevens for the pigs, but I felt like I was back. Like I was a surgeon. But then, one night on the roof waiting for an incoming helicopter, I froze. It scared the hell out of me. I'd thought that being in a new place with new people, it'd fix me, but it didn't."

His words reverberated in her. His need to fix himself, to try and change his circumstances to stop the pain, was the same as hers.

"It happened a couple times after that," he continued. "The hard part was that I couldn't remember any specific events that would cause me to react in that way. Wyatt told me that I have complex PTSD due to everything that happened over there—it wasn't just one event—so I'd never know what would trigger me and when. It would just…happen. Seeing Wyatt and talking about what happened over there helped a lot. She helped me figure out most of my triggers. In fact, I haven't had an episode in a long time. The last one was right before you asked me to get better."

She remembered when that happened. When she had caught him doing push-ups in the middle of the night. _I guess he ran out of ideas for what to do in the middle of the night, too_. "What happened then?" she quietly asked.

"I froze. Not on the floor—more like, I lost track of time—and I flashed back to 'over there.'" He paused. "Teddy had a patient—assisted suicide that needed a sign-off—and I had an episode. I hadn't had one in so long until then, so I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want to have to admit that it was happening again. I'd thought that I was getting better."

_Owen and his damn savior complex._ "You should have told me. I could have helped."

"I know."

"Do you know what…triggered you?"

Owen paused, steeling himself. "I had a friend over there. His name was Dan. Good guy. _Great_ guy, actually. A lot of the time when you get transferred here and there you lose touch with people, but somehow Dan and I always ended up working together. I wouldn't be two days in one spot before Dan would suddenly show up. Call it what you will—fate, luck, or whatnot—but Dan and I were inseparable ever since we first worked together at Maryland Shock Trauma.

"Anyways, one day, while we were transferring a patient to another base, our truck was hit by an IED. I made it out, but the patient, driver, and everyone else around me was dead. I heard Dan's voice from the other side of the truck; and when I found him on the ground, he was bleeding out through his carotid. I held on…held on for so long until he was begging me to let go. But I still held on. I couldn't let him die. It wasn't until I was sure that no one was coming that I finally let go. He was in too much pain."

Owen continued, barely whispering, "Couple minutes after he died, a chopper came and found us. But of course, it was too late. Looking back, it's probably what triggered me with your fan—the blades of chopper. I wish I'd known then. I wouldn't have ever…" he trailed off, too pained to continue.

Cristina quietly regarded him on the couch. He'd never told her about this before. It was strangely comforting to hear his painful story and his similar experiences.

"If I'd have known…" he looked up at the ceiling, searching for the words. "I was trying to help. You've done so much for me. You helped put me back together, and I just wanted to do the same for you. I thought I knew how to help you. I thought getting you back into your old routine would help. If I'd have known what was going to happen when you went back in the OR, I would have never pressured you to—I'd never would have…"

"I know."

He looked at her, looking remorseful. "I'm so sorry."

Cristina reached out and touched him, squeezing his hand. "It's okay." They stayed like that, in silence, listening to the rain tap on their windowsill.

_How long was it going to take for me to get better?_ It'd taken Owen years to get better, and he _still_ occasionally had episodes. She couldn't have another episode. She just couldn't go through that again. She just wanted to be better. She needed to get better.

"I thought it was going to fix me," she whispered.

"What?"

"Getting married. I thought it would fix me."

A long time passed before Owen finally whispered, "Do you regret it? Marrying me?"

Cristina felt physically pained by his need to ask the question. His sadness was palpable. "No."

Owen looked at her, his face full of relief, and softly asked, "Can I hold you?"

She gave him a slight nod and moved over to close the distance between them, burying her head in the nook of his neck as he held her tight, as if he'd never let her go. She felt herself slowly relax in the comfort of his arms. The pain and the doubt were still there, but it was slightly better. Hearing about how he really did know what she was going through made her feel better. Feel comforted and understood. He made her _feel_.

As he held her in his arms, her exhaustion from the day's events finally caught up with her and her eyelids became too heavy to keep open. She felt herself drifting to sleep, yet all of the sudden, she was moving. Somewhere in her semi-consciousness state, she realized that Owen was carrying her back to bed, but she was too tired to protest to walk on her own.

She felt him gently tuck her into bed, quickly moving to get in on his side. Once in, he wrapped her in his arms, and whispered, "I love you," in her ear.

"Please don't leave me," she whispered back.

"I'll never leave you, Cristina. Never."

She turned in his arms to face him and lightly kissed him on the lips. Settling back into bed, she turned around again to spoon her body against his and pulled his arm tight around her. In the warmth of his arms, she finally let herself succumb to sleep, but not before softly mumbling, "I love you, too."

She'd lied when she'd said that she couldn't feel.

She _could_ feel.

She felt loved.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: All characters are unfortunately property of ABC. No copyright infringement is intended – for non-commercial entertainment purposes only.**

**Author's Note: **I have to thank the fantabulous Shli for beta-reading this for me. This chapter takes place after 7.03.

* * *

"Dr. Hunt?"

_Not another one._ Owen paused mid-step on the way to his office and turned to face yet another eager intern.

"Yes?" he asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice and failing. It had been like this all day: interns asking him to sign off on procedure after procedure. _What the hell is a sparkle pager?_ he thought. All he knew was that this damn contest was making his life miserable.

"Mr. Smith, the man you operated on this morning, has been complaining of chest pains. May I order a chest CT on him to—"

"You want to order a CT because he's complaining of chest pains?"

"Yes," the intern confidently replied.

"Do you think that maybe the reason that Mr. Smith is complaining of chest pains might be due to the fact that we had to crack his chest open this morning for an emergency bypass?"

"Uh…" the intern nervously wavered.

"Increase his morphine dosage and page Altman if his pain increases. He's her patient, now."

The intern's shoulders slumped, defeated. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.

Before one more intern could ask him to sign off on yet another useless procedure, Owen quickly snuck into his office, quietly shutting the door, and locking it.

"Who are you hiding from?"

Owen smiled. His mood instantly brightened at the sound of his wife's voice. "No one," he said, turning around to see Cristina sitting on the chair next to his desk.

She cocked her eyebrow at him. "Uh huh."

He shrugged, caught. She could read him like a book and he didn't mind in the least. He sat down in his chair and faced her. She looked exhausted. "How are you doing?"

"Fine." Her reply was flat and emotionless.

He tried a slightly different tactic. "How was your day?" _This should at least get her a little response out of her_, he thought.

She shrugged and continued to half-heartedly play with the pen on his desk. "Fine."

"Fine?"

She looked up at him. "I don't want to talk about it."

Owen nodded back at her. He didn't want to press her further. He knew she had been with Shepherd all day and that she was probably spent. He grabbed a chart off of his stack of paperwork. "I just have to finish these charts and then we can go home."

"Okay."

"Or you can go home now if you want to. I'll be right behind you."

"No," she quietly replied. "I'll stay."

"Okay." He returned his gaze to his paperwork in front of him, immediately noticing that she had already filled out the majority of the forms already. All that was needed was his signature and the course of treatment. He looked back up at her. "Thank you."

"For?" she raised her eyebrow in question, before looking down at the papers he was gesturing to. "Oh…I was here. So—"

"Thank you."

Cristina gave him a little smile. "You're welcome. So who are you hiding from?"

"What?"

"When you came in—_who_ were you hiding from?"

"Oh," he groaned, rubbing his temple automatically at the mere thought of the contest. "Interns."

"Interns?"

"Yeah, interns. What the hell is a sparkle pager?"

She instantly perked up. "The sparkle pager contest is going on?"

"I guess. What is it?" Was he the_ only _one in this whole damn hospital who thought it was absolutely insane to order a barrage of useless tests to win a pager with 99 cent jewels glued on? Army training or not, this couldn't be normal.

"Only the best contest ever."

"And…"

"What?"

Owen leaned back in his chair in exasperation. "What is it?"

"If you win it, you get first dibs on all the surgeries. It's the best prize ever."

"Did you win it?"

Cristina scowled back. _Okay, I'll take that as a no_. "You should have." She grinned back.

They both sat in silence, as he tried to quickly finish his paperwork. It had been a long day. All he wanted right now was to sit on the couch with Cristina in his arms and relax.

"What's this?"

Owen looked up to see what she was asking about. _Oh, you weren't supposed to see that,_ he thought. Someone had been bored searching through this , there was no use in denying what it was. The flyer was pretty self-explanatory about what he had been up to. "Some place I found."

"Some place?"

"Just a place that I came across. It went on the market a couple days ago."

Cristina flipped the flyer over. "So where is it?"

"It's—"

"It's only a block away from here," she announced, reading the flyer.

"I know." Owen said, trying to suppress his excitement. It actually wasn't just "some place." He'd been eyeing the house for almost a year now. When he'd found out that it had gone on the market, he'd jumped at the opportunity.

"Did you go look at it?"

"Yeah, I walked it twice. It's actually a shorter distance to the hospital than our place now."

"But did you go in?"

Owen nodded. "Of course."

"And…?" Cristina pressed, raising her eyebrows for him to elaborate.

He really wasn't expecting this reaction from her. "It's great. There's a view of the bay from the second floor. It's probably three times the size of our place now. It's got a large master suite for us and then three other bedrooms for our ki—" He coughed and corrected, "—friends."

Cristina didn't react to his slip. "Why didn't you tell me about it?"

_Because I thought you'd say no._ "Just wanted to check it out before I showed it to you. You know, make sure it was okay."

He watched her read the flyer over again and over again. It was driving him crazy that he couldn't tell what she was thinking. Her face was a complete blank.

After a few minutes, she looked up, directly into his eyes. "Make an offer."

"What?"

"Make an offer. Buy it."

"Really?"

Cristina nodded back at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Yes, really. It's perfect."

He could feel his smile spreading wider across his face. "Okay. I'll make an offer first thing tomorrow."

"No. Do it now." She reached over and grabbed his cell phone, placing it in his hand.

"They're closed," he said, putting the phone back on his desk.

Cristina picked it up again and handed it back over to him. "Leave a message, then."

He couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm. "I promise I'll do it first thing tomorrow."

"Okay," she said, smiling.

This seemed to pacify her and she went back to looking at the flyer, flipping it back and forth. He was about to tell her more about it, when she suddenly got out of the chair and sat in his lap.

"You found us a house."

Owen shrugged nonchalantly. "I only—"

Cristina silenced him with a kiss. "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_," he said sincerely, but his response only earned him a playful eye roll. Hell, he'd thank her everyday of his life for being a part of his if he could.

"The roommates will be happy."

"Yes, they will."

"And you won't have to live in a sorority anymore."

_Thank god_. "No, I won't."

Cristina paused, deep in thought. "I am going to miss one thing, though."

"What's that?" he asked.

"Breakfast."

He laughed. "I can make you breakfast."

"Okay, good. Because I can't cook. You know that, right? I think I mentioned that to you before we got married."

He played along. "It was in the prenup, remember? I'm required to cook for you, everyday."

"Okay. As long as you remember."

Owen leaned forward and gently kissed her back. "I'll never forget."

Cristina broke away from the kiss and leaned her forehead against his. "Want to go home?"

"You have _no_ idea."

"Then let's go." She stood up and grabbed her coat off the chair.

Owen reached around and pulled her close to his side as they walked out of his office. It may have been a hell of a day, but he was going home with his wife on his arm and the promise of a new home fresh on his mind. _Maybe it's not such a bad day after all, _he thought as he closed the door.

…

All throughout dinner, Cristina hadn't been able to stop talking about the house. _Or potential house. Whatever. They were getting a house. _She couldn't pinpoint what it was about having their own house that made her so excited but just the mere thought of it brought a smile to her face. And even though she wouldn't admit it, she had known that Owen had been quietly looking for a place since before they were engaged. While she hadn't been too enthusiastic about leaving their place these past couple months since the familiarity of their apartment was comforting in a small way, their roommates' little strip show last week was the last straw—even for her. They needed their own place and now they finally had one.

As they reached the front door, Owen pulled out of their embrace to grab his keys. He opened the door for her and she was instantly overwhelmed by the smell of Callie's cooking. _Okay, that was a downside of leaving. _But then_, _her thoughts went back to the flyer in her pocket and her momentary gloom instantly vanished. _Yeah,_ _I'll get over it._

"Hey guys!" Callie cheerfully greeted them.

"Torres." Owen nodded and walked back into their bedroom.

Cristina went over and sat on the counter, watching Callie pull her casserole out of the oven.

"You want some? I made more than enough."

"It's okay," she said. "Owen and I grabbed something on the way home."

Callie shrugged. "Okay. I'll put the leftovers in the fridge if you change your mind."

"Thanks."

Callie set two place settings on the counter and began to serve. Shortly, Arizona emerged from their bedroom.

"Smells delicious, Calliope," Arizona said, sitting across from Cristina at the counter.

"You two will be happy to know that you can now have this little love shack all to yourselves. We found a place."

Arizona's fork paused mid-air. "Uh…Callie, you didn't tell them?"

"No, you said—"

"Tell us what?" Owen asked, joining them at the counter.

"We're moving out," Arizona announced.

Callie nodded and stood beside her girlfriend. "We found a place. So you guys can stay," she added with a smile.

"That's nice of you to offer," Owen said, moving beside Cristina, "But we already found a place. We're going to make an offer on it tomorrow."

Arizona smiled and shook her head. "You really don't have to do that. Just keep this one."

"Uh, here's a thought; we could _both_ move out." _Really, it wasn't that complicated,_ Cristina thought.

Arizona smirked back at her.

"So what'd you guys find?" Callie asked.

"A house right next to the hospital, about a block away," Owen said.

Arizona pointedly glanced back at Callie. "Uh…_where _is it, exactly?"

_Oh, hell no. Don't you dare say it_, Cristina thought, but Owen spoke before she could.

"On Market Street If you went to the front of the hospital and made a left. It's a block over on the right."

Owen hadn't been halfway through his directions, before Arizona had begun rolling her eyes. "You have_ got_ to be kidding."

"What?"

Callie sighed. "That's the place that _we_ were looking at."

"Well, he's making an offer on it tomorrow. Guess you have to find another one," Cristina triumphantly replied.

Arizona held out her hand. "Wait a second, no. We don't have to find a new place. Who says that _we_ have to find a new one?"

"The realtor told me that no one's made an offer on it yet," Owen calmly stated.

Arizona, however, was quickly losing her cool, Cristina noticed.

"That's because _we_ were going to!" she snapped back.

"Move on," Cristina dryly replied, mimicking the motion with her hand.

Arizona narrowed her eyes in anger. "No, we're not 'moving on'. That place is perfect."

"And that's why _we're _making an offer on it."

Callie interjected. "This is absurd."

Cristina smiled, quirking her brow. "I agree."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

"Look-" Arizona barged back in the conversation. "My furniture gets delivered in one week and since you two, until tonight, haven't even looked for a place—"

"We looked," Owen growled.

_Wow, he's getting a little wound up, _Cristina thought. This was going to be—dare she say—fun. Mostly because she knew that her guy was going to win.

Arizona, however, didn't notice Owen's change in attitude, and continued to argue. "Really? Couldn't tell. It's only been—what? Three weeks since you got married?"

"We've had things to deal with."

"Zona…" Callie said, the warning in her tone very evident.

Arizona looked over at her girlfriend and flippantly rolled her eyes. "I don't care."

"Obviously," Cristina interrupted, drawing the glare of the blonde surgeon. "That's why you've been going around the whole hospital trying to get people to kick us out. You dubbed me the what? The um….petrified wife? No, that wasn't it. Traumatized wife. Yeah, that was it."

"_Excuse me_?" Owen's jaw visibly clenched as Arizona's dropped open.

"I am…uh…" she stammered.

_Busted? Sorry? Annoying as hell? Oh, whatever,_ Cristina thought and forged ahead. "So you see, Owen here went and found a place that he could house his 'traumatized wife' in, so we wouldn't have to bother you anymore. So really, you should be thanking him."

Looking at their embarrassed faces, Cristina realized that she should probably be more hurt for what Arizona had said about her, but strangely, she wasn't. She really didn't care. All she wanted now was a win. She hadn't had a win in such a long time, and she wasn't going to back down now. She determinedly stared back at the pair. Callie cracked first.

"Arizona, we can just—"

"Oh, no, no, no, no. You are _not_ gonna let her pull the sympathy card on you. We're getting that house." She turned back towards Cristina and Owen. "Despite what you've said, you still haven't signed for it."

_Are you kidding me? She's unbelievable._ "We will tomorrow."

"Not if we sign it first."

"No. You're not." Owen sharply replied.

Both of the women reflexively took a step back at his tone. Cristina inwardly smiled. _That's my Owen._

"We're getting that house," he said, as if stating a foregone conclusion.

The room went silent. Cristina watched Arizona's lip twitch and mentally counted down the seconds until she couldn't resist retorting back. For someone who had lived with them for so long, she clearly hadn't figured out that she wasn't going to beat Owen when he was in this sort of mood.

_5…4…3…2—_

"Well, we'll see about _that _now, won't we?"

Owen took a deep breath and looked down at the floor for a moment before looking up. "How 'bout we just call it a night. We can discuss this in the morning."

"There's nothing to discuss."

"I agree." Cristina snapped back at Arizona. She shrugged at Owen. _What?_ _I couldn't help myself. _

"We'll discuss this in the morning," Owen repeated.

Callie nodded back at him and tried to gently drag her girlfriend back towards their bedroom. "Okay."

Owen nodded back. "Okay."

_What the hell was this? A truce? That was no fun._ She looked at Owen, trying to silently will him to "get back in the ring," but instead, he just shook his head and gestured towards their bedroom. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Bitches," she muttered under her breath.

"Agreed," Owen mumbled back.

And she smiled.

…

Owen walked out of the bathroom, drying his wet hair. He was about to ask Cristina if she was ready to leave, before he stopped, noticing that she was strangely pressed up against the door, apparently eavesdropping. He walked over and lightly coughed, so he wouldn't startle her. "What are you doing?" he asked, kissing the side of her neck.

Cristina whipped around and shushed him. "They've been scheming all morning trying to rearrange their schedules so they can go and sign before us," she urgently whispered.

"Well, the office doesn't open until ten. It's only seven. Plus, the realtor's office is only a ten-minute drive from the hospital, so you have nothing to worry about," he whispered back.

"I really want that house, Owen."

Owen paused, taken aback by the neediness in her voice. "I'll put in an offer today. Don't worry."

"No. I _really _want that house."

"Okay—"

"Promise me you'll get it."

"I promise I'll get you that house."

Cristina still looked worried. "We can't let them get it."

Owen leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I won't let them get it."

"Okay," she nodded, slightly smiling.

He was about to open the bedroom door when she suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand.

"Wait!"

Owen stopped, confused. He looked over at her. Cristina's eyes were suddenly alive with excitement.

"One of us has to be there in person to sign it, right?"

"Yes…" he said.

"So, what if we made sure that they had to stay at the hospital all day? Keep 'em swamped with cases so they'll never be able get away."

Her excitement was contagious. "We could do that," he mischievously replied.

Cristina paced the room, keeping her voice to a slow, conspiratorial whisper. "I could get Mer to page them, too. Alex, maybe. Kepner, for sure, if I say that McDreamy wants her to do it." She looked back up at him, beaming with excitement. "We could do this. We could totally do this!"

Owen smiled back at her. He hadn't seen her this excited about anything, in well…a long time. He wasn't naïve about the realities of her post-traumatic stress, but to witness her like this, it gave him hope that maybe she was feeling better. Or at the very least, he could give her this little bit of happiness. _I am buying her that house, _he thought_. Today._

She hadn't noticed him quietly watching her as she continued to scheme and ramble on about her plan. "And_ then_, when I have them pinned down, you can run over to the realtor's and sign!"

"You're starting to talk like a general I used to know."

Cristina stopped pacing and threw up her arms. "Well, we need a strategy."

Owen nodded appreciatively. "I know. I like it."

"We're going to get that house."

"Yes, we are."

With that, Owen handed her coat, and they both exited the room. Their roommates were already on their way out and paused in the doorway.

"Good morning," he said to them.

Both of the women leaned back into the room and gave them a curt, "Morning," before quickly leaving, slamming the door behind them.

"They can't honestly think that they have a chance against us."

Owen laughed at his wife's comment. One: because she was unintentionally hilarious. Two: because she was right. "Well, I guess they'll find out who they're dealing with soon enough, huh?"

Judging from the look of competitive determination that appeared on Cristina's face, he might as well have rung the ringside bell of a wrestling match.

"Damn, straight," she replied, and then left the room on a mission.

Owen smiled_. Her fire is back, _he thought, and then quickly followed her out of the apartment.

…

"Hey! There you are."

Cristina looked up from her charting to see her best friend walk towards her. Her acknowledgement was brief. She didn't have time for small talk. She needed to fill out these charts as fast as possible, so she could get out of here.

Meredith set her charts beside Cristina's and leaned against the counter. "Have you seen Alex anywhere? I've been paging him all morning and…Why are you filling out those charts so fast?"

"I need to finish these charts so I can get home," she replied without looking up.

"Why do you have to go home? Do you need something? Because I could—"

Cristina glanced up from her frantic charting. "No, I don't need to go 'home' home. I just need to get out of here."

Meredith gave her a sympathetic smile. "Okay, it's okay. We could just…um…take a break outside?"

"No, I'm fine. I just need to leave so I can sign the papers to our new house."

"You got a house?"

"Not yet," she said. "And _especially_ not yet if our roommates have anything to say about it."

Meredith furrowed her brow. "I'm not following."

"The house? Turns out that Callie and her girlfriend are trying to get it, too. They just sprung that on us last night. Nice, huh? Especially after they went around the entire hospital trying to find people to kick 'traumatized' me out."

Meredith winced.

_Why was it that everyone thought that she hadn't heard about this?_ She practically lived at nurses' stations now. Thus, she basically knew everything that happened in the hospital.

"Bitches."

"Agreed." Cristina handed her a chart. "Hey, could you fill this out?"

Meredith took it without question and began filling it out. "So when do you have to go over and sign the papers?"

"As soon as I'm finished with your husband's paperwork."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. I'm almost finished."

"Can't you call the realtor and tell them that you're going to sign today so they don't take any other offers?"

Cristina waved her hand in annoyance, as she continued to write. "Yeah, I already tried that. She says that it's whoever gets there first to sign. And that person is going to be _me._ There is no way that I'm letting either of those two beat me to it."

Meredith smiled. "Want some help?"

"Sure. Oh, I almost forgot," she paused, reaching over to grab Meredith's pager.

"What are you doing?"

She dialed in the number that she'd been paging since she walked through the front doors this morning. "Paging them. Don't worry, you can blame it on me when they find you."

"It's okay. Maybe they'll put me on their service when they get here. I need to cut."

_Probably not_, Cristina thought, but she said nothing.

"Need anything else?" Meredith asked, handing over a completed chart.

"Nope. Just as long as I can get out of here soon, we'll be okay. Owen's been trying to keep them here as long as he can, while I just keep paging them until I can leave. I've been doing it all morning with the interns' pagers."

Her friend broke into a laugh. "Want me to get Alex to help ,too, when I find him?"

"Sure. Wouldn't hurt," she said. "But, I think that the Queen of Peds has him wrapped around her little finger with surgeries though."

Meredith frowned. "Ah, crap. Sorry, I forgot about that."

"It's okay. Owen bribed Avery with his first choice of surgery if he keeps Callie occupied all day."

"I want a surgery," she whined.

"You can have mine," Cristina offered. "Tell your post-it husband to put you on his service instead of me."

"He's just trying to help."

Cristina sighed. _Everyone_ was trying to help. Why couldn't they just figure out that she was screwed up and let her be? "I know."

"Cristina?"

Cristina turned around at the sound of Teddy's voice.

Meredith put a hand on her shoulder and muttered, "I'll talk to you later. Page me if you need anything else."

She nodded at her friend's offer and then asked Teddy, "Yes?"

"Are you assigned to a case today?"

"I'm on Shepherd's service, today."

"No, I switched Avery out for you."

_That can't possibly be right._ "Uh, well, you're going to have to talk to Shepherd."

"Already did," Teddy stated, handing her a stack of charts. "2218 and 2290 need work-ups done. Page me when you're finished."

Confused, Cristina could only mutter, "Uh…okay?" as she grabbed the stack of charts.

"Don't."

Both of the women turned around in surprise at Owen's order.

"What?" she asked, looking at Owen in confusion.

"Don't take those charts. You're not on her service today. She's lying." He redirected his glance and stared hard at Teddy. "Aren't you Teddy?"

"No, I'm not…" Teddy stuttered, while looking down at her pager. "I…I talked with Dr. Shepherd this morning and asked to place Dr. Yang on my service today and he agreed."

"He agreed? Just like that?"

"Yes…he did."

_Wow, she's a terrible liar,_ Cristina thought.

Owen seemed to agree with her sentiment, and he cocked his eyebrow at Teddy. "Then, why is it that you can't look me in the eye while you're saying that?"

"I can look you in the eye," she protested, looking down at her pager. Again.

"Teddy," Owen growled.

"What?"

"You're on their side!"

"They're my friends."

"We're your friends, too."

Teddy's shoulders slumped, and she shrugged apologetically. "Sorry."

"So, I'm _not _on your service?"

She looked over at Cristina. "No, I'm sorry. But, I would really like to have you back."

Cristina weakly smiled back, as she watched Teddy leave. While she probably should be grateful that Teddy wanted her back on her service, she felt nothing but ambivalence. She didn't want to step into an OR yet, and Teddy would make her. There wasn't much of a decision to be made.

Cristina was about to resume charting when Owen muttered, "We need to talk," under his breath. He gently grabbed her arm and pulled them into the nearest linen closet.

"What?"

"We need to come up with a strategy."

"I thought we had a strategy; keep them here."

"Yeah, but now they're playing dirty. I've been paged to every corner of this damn hospital, and I haven't been able to do anything to them."

"I've been paging them all morning with the interns' pagers," she offered.

Owen smiled. "Good. But, we're gonna have to come up with a better strategy, so they can't sneak away. So far, Avery and Karev's been tracking them and they said that they haven't been able to leave yet."

"I wouldn't take Alex's word for it. He might be lying. He's Arizona's guy."

"Not when two Seahawk tickets are on the line. He's _my_ guy today."

"Playing dirty, Dr. Hunt?"

"Maybe," he shrugged.

Cristina smiled and playfully caressed his cheek. "Aww…my husband is finally catching on." She laughed, pulling away. "So what now? Are you going talk to Shepherd so he lets me leave?"

"Yeah. I'll page you once I do, and then—"

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Cristina looked down at her flashing pager, glancing at the message. "Crap."

"Who is it?"

"Arizona," she groaned.

"You have to take it."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah, you do. I don't want to get you into hot water with the Chief."

_Did the man ever break a rule in his life?_ "She obviously doesn't need anything. I'm not even on her service," she protested.

He shrugged. "Still…"

"Ugh, fine. But then, what are we going to do about getting out of here to sign the papers?"

"Well, no one is signing any papers if we're all still here at the hospital. Answer that page, and I'll talk to Shepherd about letting you leave. If anyone asks any questions while you're gone, I'll cover for you."

She thought for a moment. There really wasn't any other option. Finally, she nodded, agreeing, "Okay."

"Okay." Owen smiled and gave her a quick kiss goodbye.

…

Cristina exited the elevator walking at what could only be described as a snail's pace. It didn't exactly take a genius to figure out that Arizona had paged her to this floor for absolutely no reason other than to stall her. She wasn't even on her service. Heck, she really wasn't sure why she was even answering this page in the first place. _God, Owen's Dudley-do-right attitude is rubbing off on me._

She walked over to the nurses' station and found an available nurse.

"Where's Dr. Robbins?"

The nurse looked up from her computer and looked around the room. "Umm…she must have just left. But she left these charts for a Dr. Yang. Is that you?"

_No._ "Yes. Do you know if there are there any other residents on this floor? Or interns?" _Someone who could do this other than me?_ she thought.

The nurse simply shrugged and went back to work.

With a groan, Cristina picked up the charts and looked at the neatly written post-it on the sleeve: _I need post-ops done on all of them. Please._

The "please" was just taking it too far. _What a bitch. _She opened the first chart. Tommy Thomas. Six years old. Post-op for an appendectomy. _Who the hell would name their kid Tommy Thomas? Whatever. _She closed the chart and headed towards the room.

Inside, she found the young boy playing with his Gameboy. _Well, at least he's distracted._ "Hi, uh…Tommy. My name is Dr. Yang, and I'm going to check your wound."

The little boy looked up at her, giving her a quick, appraising glance and then resumed playing. "No."

"No?"

"You can't come near me."

_Oh, for the love of god._ She walked over to the bed and began to lift his sheet. "It will just take a second and then I'll be gone."

The boy recoiled from her touch and began screaming, _"No!"_

Cristina clenched her jaw. "Okay. Tommy. I need to take a look at your dressing, because if I don't something bad will happen."

This got his attention. "What will happen?"

_You'll get about ten cc's of the highest strength sedative I can find, _she thought_._ But before she could look for the medication, a thought suddenly popped into her mind. _Genius. _"Well, it's kind of a secret," she whispered. "We can't really tell anyone."

The little boy's eyes got wide. "Tell me."

"Oh, I don't know. I don't think I can."

"_Tell me_!" he yelled.

"Okay. Only if you promise not to tell anyone."

The boy nodded furiously and Cristina leaned down to whisper in his ear. The more she elaborated, the wider his eyes got. Finally, she pulled back and smiled to herself as she left the room. She felt a temporary pang of guilt, but then quickly thought, _Aww hell…_s_he's already kicked me out of Peds, anyways. What else can she do?_

…

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Owen looked down at his pager. That was the second 911 paged he had received to the Peds floor in the past two minutes. His thoughts immediately went to the little girl he had operated on yesterday.

Once on the floor, he immediately spotted Robbins' blonde head of hair and rushed over to her. "You paged me 911? Is it the Collins' girl?"

"No, she's stable," Arizona casually replied as she continued to write notes in a patient's chart.

"So, what's the problem, then?"

Arizona suddenly looked up from her chart. She looked livid. "The problem? You want to know what the _problem _is?"

_Uh, yes,_ he thought, remaining silent.

"Your _wife_ is what the problem is. I have a floor full of terrified kids and parents that are ready to sue because of what she said to them!"

_Oh, this is going to be good_. He tried to keep his voice even. "What did she say?"

"Oh, hmm…where do I start? How 'bout over here. Follow me." Without waiting for his response, Arizona turned on her heel and walked towards a patient's room on the corner. Owen could hear the child's screams from across the room.

A red-faced mother intercepted them at the door. "Dr. Robbins. What the _hell _is going on? We left the room for one minute and then when we came back, Tommy was screaming and hasn't stopped crying since. He keeps sobbing about a monster in the bathroom that's going to eat him."

Owen had to quickly turn his head and cough to mask his chuckle and smile.

"Mrs. Thomas, I apologize," Arizona said, putting a sympathetic hand on the mother's arm. "There must have been some sort of misunderstanding, but I'll get this fixed right away."

"You better! Because this is completely out of line. If this so much as—"

"Don't worry. I'll handle it. Dr. Hunt here and I will handle it. Okay?" Arizona gave Owen a look and then walked over to the young boy, who was curled up in bed, tears streaming down his face. "Hi, Tommy. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Tommy pointed towards the bathroom in terror. "There's a monster in the bathroom!"

Arizona sat down on the bed, strategically blocking the boy's view of the bathroom. "Now, Tommy, there isn't a monster in the closet. We have special people who came and scared all the monsters out of the hospital. Absolutely_ no_ monsters live in this hospital. Isn't that right, Dr. Hunt?" she said, glaring back at Owen.

"Yes, Tommy," Owen emphatically agreed. "Dr. Robbins is telling the truth. I have never seen a monster in this hospital. I promise."

Tommy shook his head furiously back and forth, crying. "No! That other doctor said that there was a monster that ate kids in my bathroom!"

_Oh, Cristina, this is so good and yet, so, so bad,_ he thought.

"Well, she was wrong, Tommy. Wasn't she, Dr. Hunt?" Arizona pointedly asked Owen.

"Very,_ very_ wrong, Tommy."

Arizona turned back to the young boy. "But you know what, Tommy? Dr. Hunt said that he'd stay here and watch over you all day so you feel safe, okay?"

"Wait – what?"

The boy looked up gratefully at Owen. "You _will_?"

"Uh…" _Oh, this was taking it way too far,_ he thought. Owen took a step forward so he could speak to Arizona out of the boy's earshot.

Before he could, Arizona stepped forward and nodded at the boy. "Yes, he will. As long as you want him."

"I have an ER to run," he angrily whispered under his breath.

Arizona turned around and smiled. "And _I_ have an entire Pediatric floor. You can thank your wife later." She stepped towards the door. "Okay, I have to go, but Dr. Hunt's staying, okay?"

Both the boy and his mother happily nodded.

"Wait!" Owen called out.

"Bye," Arizona said, and left.

_Okay, time to get this settled quick._ Owen walked back over to Tommy's bed. "Okay, Tommy, I promise you that there are no monsters in here. See?" He walked into the bathroom and made a grand show of opening and closing every drawer and closet. He looked back at the young boy nodding at him. _Success? Maybe?_

He went back over to the boy's bedside. "And I promise you that you're going to be just fine with your mom here. Okay?" He began to slowly move towards the door. "I have to go check on something and I'll be back later."

"_No!"_ Tommy wailed.

_Okay, _not_ a success. Damn it._

"It'll come back if you're not here."

Owen glared at Arizona smirking at him through the glass. "No, it won't. There's no monster."

"Yes, there is!"

"Okay, you know what…" Owen sighed in exasperation. He didn't know how he was going to get out of this one. Suddenly, he spotted his "out" strolling down the hallway through the glass. He motioned for him to come in. "Tommy, this is Steve. He's a professional monster slayer. He's killed lots of monsters. Haven't you, Steve?"

Tommy looked at the intern in awe. Steve looked at Owen in bewilderment.

"_Really?"_

"Really," Owen said, silencing Steve's protest with a look. "And he's going to stay here and protect you. Will that be okay?"

Tommy glanced at the bathroom and then at Steve. "Okay."

"What?" Steve squeaked out.

"Don't ask questions," Owen hissed back. "Give me your chart and stay here. Clear?" He then gave him the same stare his first C.O. had given him ten years ago. It had the same effect: the silent nod.

Owen smiled. _Success._ He turned back to the boy's mother. "Mrs. Thomas, it's been a pleasure. I'll check back soon, okay?"

The woman grasped his hand in gratitude. "Thank you, Dr.—"

"Hunt."

"Dr. Hunt." The woman smiled.

Owen quickly left the room and didn't even glace back at the undoubtedly wide-eyed Steve. Once out of the room, he saw Derek smirking at him by a nearby nurses' station. _Someone must have been enjoying the show._ He walked over to his friend, shaking his head.

"What was that about?" Derek asked.

"That? Cristina told a kid that —it's a long story."

"Does it have something to do with the little contest you're in?"

"Contest? Uh…"

"Meredith told me," he shrugged. "So what's the deal? I thought Torres and Robbins wanted you two to move out?"

Owen raised his hand in frustration. "I know! They did. And we were always going to. I just wanted to wait until Cristina, you know…"

Derek gave him a sympathetic smile. "I understand. So how'd they find out about the same place?"

He couldn't help but sigh in frustration. "I don't know. They just told us last night. Hell, I just told Cristina about it last night. I wanted to check it out first before I told her, you know? And now they're telling us that we can keep the apartment and they'll move out."

"Are you going to do that?"

Owen shrugged. "Two weeks ago? Sure. But now, Cristina really wants this new place. She hasn't been this enthusiastic about anything in a while. So I have to get it for her. She deserves something to make her happy."

"So what's the contest, then?"

"There is no contest. It's whoever can sign the damn contract first. I've been trying to get away all morning, but the pit's been swamped. I know Cristina's on your service, but the girls have been paging her all morning, too. I've been trying to keep those two in the hospital, but it's not exactly easy. I_ can't_ lose this for her, Derek."

"Do you need any help?"

"Sure. I'll take all the help I can get."

Derek smiled. "Well, in that case, I might have a couple ideas. Here," he said, gesturing toward the hallway, "walk with me."

…

"Hey, I've been paging you."

Cristina looked up at Derek from behind the nurses' desk that she had been hiding at for the past hour. "I know."

"Were you planning on answering them?"

"The first one—yes. The tenth one—no."

Derek raised his brow in amusement. "Did it occur to you that maybe I needed you and that's why I was paging you?"

She shrugged. "Possibly. So I'm here. You found me. Congratulations. What do you want?"

He handed her a chart over the desk. _Great. Another write up._ "Shunt repair. You're scrubbing in. Prep 793, please."

"What?" Her hands suddenly became clammy with sweat. This had to be some sort of joke. They had come to an unofficial agreement last week that she only operated on corpses. Dead guys were okay. Surgeries in the OR were not. She handed him back the chart. "No. I can't."

"Don't worry."

_Don't worry?_ "No, I can't do this."

"Yes, you can."

"No, I _can't._ Page your wife."

"You're on my service."

This was ridiculous. It was already three o'clock. She couldn't perform a surgery with him for a multitude of reasons. "I have to be somewhere," she finally confessed.

Derek gently smiled. "I know."

_He knew? What?_ "You know?"

He nodded at her. "I talked with Owen."

"So why'd you book me for surgery, then?"

"Because you're on my service."

_Oh, he was intolerable. McDreamy my ass._ "Have you ever heard of being a 'team player'?"

"Yes."

"And…"

"And what?" he innocently asked.

_And this guy was a brain surgeon. Terrifying._ She gestured with her hands, "Why'd you book me for a five-hour surgery, then?"

"Because I need a resident and you're mine for the day."

Cristina bit her lip. He really wasn't going to budge_. God, she was going to have to call it in._ "I'm asking for a favor here, Shepherd. I saved your life. You owe me this."

"I owe—"

"Yes, I went there," she interrupted. _Damn, I had big plans for that favor, too. _

Derek smiled and shook his head, handing her back the patient's chart. "I'll see you in twenty minutes, Cristina."

"Seriously?"

Her reply went unanswered, as he turned and walked away, shaking his head. _This was just…unbelievable,_ she thought.

Cristina angrily snatched the chart off the counter but not before she spotted Callie across the hall, laughing. _I bet she put him up to this._ Cristina glared back at her and stormed off. _Bitches._

…

As he watched her walk past his trauma room, Owen could barely suppress his grin that was threatening to cross his face.

"Where's Hunt?" Callie called out to no one in particular. Someone must have signaled his location because she quickly walked directly to his room and poked her head in. "You paged?"

"Uh, yes, I did." He directed his attention back to the patient. "Follow the light, please," he asked the young man.

"For what? This?" She pointed to his patient. "You paged me for _this_?"

He kept his head down. _Keep it cool. Enjoy the moment._

"Haha. Weak, Owen. Sprained ankle. There ya go. Now, do you need me for something else? Like to diagnose a case of the sniffles or can I go now?"

Owen finished examining his patient and turned around, assuming his most innocent face. "Oh, I didn't page you for _this_. Dr. Nelson needs your assistance. Follow me." He reached over to grab the patient's chart and walked into the adjacent trauma room.

Once in the room, he handed Callie the chart and lit up the x-rays on the light board.

"This guy is still alive?"

Owen nodded. "Alive, stable and about to be operated on in OR 5 by you and Nelson."

"But his entire back is broken!"

"Which is why Nelson needs you in OR 5."

Callie couldn't stop glancing between the x-rays and the chart. "This…this is at least a fifteen-hour surgery!"

_Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!_ he thought to himself, but outwardly, he casually shrugged. "Let me know how it goes. Good luck."

"You! You! This….You planned this with Shepherd!"

"You think that I would have Shepherd ask Nelson to go out of his way to rearrange his schedule to fit in an extremely complicated surgery at the drop of a hat?"

"Yes."

Owen smiled back at her. "You have a very active imagination, Torres."

Callie scowled back at him, ripping the x-rays off the board. "Oh, it's on, Hunt. You think this is funny? Just you wait. I have plans that you couldn't even dream of."

"I look forward to the challenge then."

He thought she was going to retort, but instead, she shut her mouth, glared, and slyly gave him the finger as she walked away. _Yep, I'm buying Derek beer for a month for this one_, he thought.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Owen looked down at his pager. _Ah, hell._

…

Cristina sighed, as she searched through her bag for her apartment's keys. She was exhausted. _I wonder if Owen's back yet. _She hadn't seen him since their little clandestine strategy session in the closet. A huge mass casualty car crash had come in a couple hours later (she'd heard from the nurses) so she assumed that he had been in surgery ever since. _Not that it mattered._

Finally locating the key, she opened the door and trudged through, throwing her bag in the direction of the couch. Owen ducked and caught it midair. _How'd he beat me here?_

"Sorry," she apologized, placing her keys on the counter.

"Oh, look who it is!" Arizona sarcastically yelled from the kitchen. "_Monsters_, Cristina? Do you have any idea how many parents I had to calm down and try not to sue the hospital for negligent care because of your little stunt?"

_My little stunt? How 'bout her little stunt. She was the one who paged me to her floor._ "A lot?"

Owen walked over and took her jacket from her, whispering in her ear, "_Outstanding _stunt, wife."

"Try more than 'a lot.' Try the whole damn pediatric floor!" Arizona continued. "I think I should make you attend the meeting that I'm undoubtedly going to have to have with the Chief tomorrow."

Cristina shrugged. "You paged me." _You get what you paged for._

Arizona was about to retort but Callie's sudden appearance through the front door interrupted her.

"Well,_ that_ was a fun way to spend my day," she announced. "Thanks guys! Can't wait to do it again, tomorrow."

"Yeah, can't wait," her girlfriend chimed in.

"Then find your own place," Cristina stated. _Really, what part of "we're getting that house" did they fail to understand?_

"We found a place," Arizona replied.

"Well, you're gonna have to find a new one."

"No, we don't," the women replied in unison.

"Really?" Cristina asked.

Arizona smirked. "You can't stop us from getting that house, Cristina."

"Actually, I can." Before her roommates could reply, Cristina walked over to the couch Owen was sitting on and pulled a stack of papers out of her bag. She smiled triumphantly, waving the stack at them.

Owen took one look at the papers, instantly realizing what she had done, and launched himself off of the couch to kiss her. He pulled away, laughing, and asked, "When did you? How did you…?" He shook his head in bewilderment and happiness. "It's _ours_?"

Cristina nodded. "It's ours," she said, smiling back. "Apparently people like cash offers. Did you know that?"

He laughed and kissed her again.

Their happy embrace was quickly interrupted by Callie, who reached over to grab the papers out of her hand. "Wait, let me see those. You're bluffing. You were in surgery with Shepherd all afternoon!"

_Was_ supposed_ to be in surgery all afternoon,_ Cristina silently corrected. It turned out that Shepherd wasn't that bad of a guy after all. Sure, she'd wanted to shear off his coveted locks the moment he'd told her that he'd assigned her to a surgery, but he'd surprised her. After finally building up the courage to enter the scrub room, she'd discovered that Meredith was already scrubbing in as her replacement, so she could sneak out the back and sign the papers. Surprisingly, McDreamy actually lived up to his nickname today.

"So how'd you sign that?" Callie asked again.

Cristina smiled, as Owen took back the papers from their soon-to-be former roommate. "Doesn't matter, now. Does it?"

"But…but…how?" Arizona whined.

"Isn't it obvious? I win _all _the contests."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: All characters are unfortunately property of ABC. No copyright infringement is intended – for non-commercial entertainment purposes only.**

**Author's Note: **I have to give a huge shout-out and thank you to my fantabulous beta Shli. I also want thank everyone who has left reviews. I really appreciate each and every one of them, so thank you very much :) This chapter takes place after 7.04.

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Owen looked down at his watch, stifling a yawn. _3:15._ He was scheduled to scrub into surgery in an hour and his morning coffee was beginning to wear off. _I need to get another cup of coffee in my system_, he thought. As he walked into the attendings' lounge, he soon discovered that he wasn't the only one with the same idea. The room was packed with chatting surgeons holding cups in their hands.

"Hello," Owen greeted the group. Instantly, all conversation ceased and the room went dead silent. _What the hell is that about?_

After a brief awkward pause, his greeting was reciprocated by a half-a-dozen mumbled "Hi's."

_Don't ask,_ he thought, walking over to the machine to fill up his cup. He'd learned very quickly working in this hospital that sometimes it was better not to ask.

"You tell him," he heard Callie whisper behind his back.

"No, _you_ tell him," Teddy whispered back.

"Don't look at me," Bailey said, not bothering to lower her voice.

Owen turned around to face the guilty-looking group. "Tell me what?"

"Oh, uh…" Callie muttered, looking to the other attendings for help.

"We don't want to work with your wife anymore, Hunt," Mark announced. "That's what everyone wants to tell you."

Callie's mouth dropped open. "Mark!"

"What? It's all you've been talking about since I came in here. And since you weren't—"

_Smack!_

"_Ow_!" Mark exaggeratedly recoiled at his friend's hit.

Owen ignored the bickering next to him and addressed the only rational person in the room: Bailey. "I don't understand. Cristina's been cleared to work."

"She has, but she still won't go into the OR," Bailey explained. "We're not saying that we're going to have her kicked out of the program—"

"Well, you kinda are."

Bailey glared at Mark's interruption. "We're _not_ having her kicked out of the program, but we are going to recommend to the Chief to go with Dr. Perkins' earlier suggestion to have put her on a lighter duty—research, perhaps."

"Research? You can't put her in research."

"But that's what you argued for a couple weeks ago," Callie interjected.

"No, I didn't. I just said that I didn't want her to be placed on my service after what had happened."

Bailey cocked her hip out to the side and gave him the look that could intimidate any man. "So we have to put her on our services because you don't want her?"

"No, it's not like that." The truth was that he was scared of the consequences of placing Cristina back on his service again. The last time he'd tried, it had resulted in her giving back her wedding ring. _Yeah, _not_ trying that again._

"Just tell them how it is, Hunt." Mark took another swig out of his cup and then continued addressing the group. "The man just doesn't want to get stuck on the couch and not get laid."

"No," Owen growled, "The reasonI can't have her on my service is because eighty percent of my patients are crashing on the table. I can't put her in those stressful situations. She's not ready for it."

Mark raised his hand in triumph. "And the man comes to the same conclusion we already have."

"I didn't say that she shouldn't have a chance to operate. What she needs is a low-stress atmosphere to work in." He scanned the room for a sympathetic face. "Teddy? Can you put her on your service?"

Teddy shrugged apologetically. "I need a set of hands in there, too, Owen. I can't have an emergency and not have someone there to help me. I'm sorry, but I can't."

"I can't either," Callie said.

"Sloan?" Owen asked.

"Don't look at me. She's your wife."

"But you're just putting in breast implants all day—"

"Hey! I take offense to that. I happen to be a world-class plastic surgeon who saves lives everyday."

"With your boobs?" Callie laughed.

"There actually are other uses for them," Teddy offered.

Mark pointed to Teddy. "See? Teddy can back me up."

_Oh, this group was ridiculous_, Owen thought_._ A second ago, they were discussing the future of Cristina's career and now they were discussing whether Sloan could save a life with a silicone implant. _Unbelievable._

"Look," he forcefully said, trying to get their attention. "It's not her fault that she can't go into operating rooms. We can't just give up on her."

"No one said that we're giving up on her," Bailey replied, looking slightly annoyed. "We're just going have her taken off the surgical rotation for a couple months 'til she gets better."

"_If_ she gets better—" Mark interrupted.

_Oh, that's it._ Owen's last shred of patience was erased by Sloan's comment, and he took a menacing step towards the plastic surgeon. "You know what—"

Callie, however, intercepted him, throwing herself between the two men. "Owen? Owen?" she asked, bobbing around to get his attention. "I want what's best for Cristina, too. It's just…maybe she isn't ready to operate, yet."

"She—" Owen was about to argue his case, yet again, when a movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. _Cristina._ His eyes locked with hers for a brief moment and then she quickly turned away, vanishing from his view. The brief look of devastation on her face made him fear the worst and the open door only confirmed it. _She'd heard everything._

"I have to go," he announced to no one in particular and ran out of the room. Once outside, he quickly scanned the hallways for Cristina's familiar black curls, but she was nowhere to be seen. He reached down to grab his pager, typing in her number from memory, and then set off trying to find her.

…

_I need to get out of here,_ Cristina thought, as she fled down the staircase. The small painful lump in her chest had grown into a heaviness that was nearly suffocating her. It'd taken every last ounce of her self-composure to discreetly escape down the stairwell before anyone saw the tears in her eyes that were threatening to fall. Thankfully, no one was in the dark, basement corridor when she finally reached the bottom floor and she was able to slip into the vent room undetected. Once in, she collapsed against the door and slid down to the floor.

She didn't want to care. In fact, she spent the majority of her days now trying to numb herself from caring because she'd found that it was the less painful alternative. However, despite how hard she tried to, she couldn't stop caring. She'd heard the argument in the attendings room. She'd heard it all. It was one thing to know that there were discussions about her future, it was another to actually _hear _all the attendings say that they didn't want to work with her. It felt like a slap in the face.

Surgery, once her lifeblood, was now slipping away from her, and she didn't know if she had enough fight in her anymore not to let it go. She'd secretly hoped that despite her trauma, people still saw her as a surgeon. However, as she'd listened in to the attendings argue amongst themselves, she couldn't help but feel as if all her darkest fears were being confirmed by the very people that she'd hoped thought differently. They no longer saw her as the top resident in her class; instead, they saw a washed-up surgeon who was finished. _No one wants me. _

She'd thought that maybe she was getting better. Yes, she still couldn't walk into an OR; but last week, when she'd worked with Bailey, was the first time that she'd wanted to get back into the OR. It had been the first time since "the incident" that her need to get in the OR and help had overridden her fear about what would happen if she did. But when she'd tried to walk in…she couldn't. The instant she'd taken one step through the scrub room doors, her mind had betrayed her, yet again, and she'd been overwhelmed by fear.

Her morose train of thought was suddenly interrupted when she felt her pager vibrate against her waist. She looked down at the screen: five missed pages from Owen. _Where are you? Are you okay? _Cristina sighed, debating what to say, and then wrote back: _I'm fine._ As much as she needed Owen to be here, an equal part of her wanted to be alone. _Needed_ to be alone right now.

Once she was sure that she could keep herself together in front of everyone, she walked to the center of the room and let the jet of steam blow around her. She closed her eyes, trying to feel even a sliver of happiness. After three cycles of the vent, she stepped back off the metal grate. _That doesn't work anymore either_, she sadly thought and then left the room.

…

"Cristina? _Cristina?"_ Owen frantically ran up the old firehouse's stairs. He'd been searching for her everywhere: the vent, their on-call room, Meredith's house, their old apartment, and finally here. At first, after receiving her page (which was clearly a lie), he'd stopped searching for her, thinking that she had just needed some space. _Stupid decision. I should have never left her alone_, he silently cursed himself. Now with each passing minute, he was becoming more and more anxious as his mind came up with worse scenarios of where she could be.

"Cristina?" he called out again as he reached the top level. The room was lit, which provided him with a little reassurance that she'd been there at some point. Finally, he turned the corner to their "bedroom" and let out a sigh of relief. She was sitting with her back to him on their makeshift air mattress and staring out the window.

Owen quietly walked over and quietly sat down next to her. At first, she didn't acknowledge him, continuing to stare straight ahead. Finally, she turned to face him. He looked at her red-rimmed eyes and felt his heart clench. She'd been crying.

"Oh, Cristina," he said, reaching for her. Cristina immediately collapsed in his arms and buried her face in his shoulder. Her body racked with sobs as he pulled her even closer and whispered, "Shh…it's okay. I'm here. I'm here."

After a few minutes, her crying slowly subsided and Owen pulled away to gently kiss her forehead. "Shh…" he softly whispered again, stroking her hair. He was about to pull her close again when Cristina suddenly leaned forward and kissed his lips.

Her kiss started gentle but quickly turned heated as she grabbed a fistful of his hair to pull him even closer. Owen was taken completely off-guard by her sudden change in behavior. Her kisses grew increasingly desperate as her hands began to travel down his body to tug at his belt. Owen felt his body responding and broke away, trying to slow her down before he too lost control. "Cristina, wait—"

She did anything but. She threw her shirt off over her head and quickly began unbuttoning his shirt. He gently grabbed her hand to pause her. "Cristina…"

"I _need_ you," she whispered, continuing to undo his buttons.

Owen nodded his understanding and gently laid her down on the mattress. If this was what she needed, he would do whatever he took to make her feel better. He began to slowly tease her through the thin, soft fabric of her bra, before she stopped him and quickly discarded the bra, along with her jeans. _Okay, quick and dirty it is then_, he thought, as he too kicked out of his jeans and quickly got to work on attending to his wife's needs.

…

Satiated by their brief, yet intense, lovemaking, Cristina stared up at the dilapidated ceiling. She felt Owen softly stroking her shoulder and could sense that he was waiting for her to talk, but she wasn't ready yet. She was still enjoying the silence and simple comfort of lying in his arms.

With her world turned upside down, Owen was the only part of her life that made sense anymore. He was the only thing she could count on. The only person who truly understood what she felt and what she was going through. And despite knowing how screwed up she was, he'd never abandoned her. He'd kept his promise that he would was always be there, having never left her alone for a single night since her admission to him. And she loved him all the more for it.

He was, in fact, the reason she came here to this old firehouse, shortly after her brief visit to the vent. The attendings' conversation had sent her completely off-kilter and she'd found herself unable to do her job. Without knowing where else to go, she'd left the hospital and came here—to their new home. It was the one place that, despite their short ownership, had become the one place that she felt truly safe in.

Finally, she rolled towards Owen. His eyes radiated compassion as he reached for her hand and softly stroked it. Emboldened, she took a deep breath, and whispered, "I don't want to get kicked out of the program."

"I'm not going to let them kick you out."

"It's just…" She closed her eyes. "It's not that I _don't_ want to cut again…I just can't…I can't go in there."

"I know," he softly whispered, giving her a soft kiss. "I know."

"They think that I'm washed up."

Owen shook his head. "No, they don't."

"I heard them today. No one wants me on their service. They're going to kick me out."

"That's not going to happen."

"But they said—"

"I'll talk to Webber. You're not getting kicked out of the program," he reassured her, squeezing her hand. "You'll be on my service now."

"I'm going to end up working in the morgue," she mumbled.

Owen scoffed at her suggestion. "Cristina, you're the best surgeon in your class."

"It doesn't matter if I can't step in an OR, and no one will teach me. I'm going to end up in the morgue…with Pierce." Her nose curled in distate as she imagined working with her former lackey.

"You are _not_ going to end up in the morgue. You can be on my service for as long as you want. I'll teach you everything I know."

"On dead guys? Because that's all I can work on."

"Well, we can start on corpses and then work up—"

"To what?"

"To operating in the OR," he said, matter-of-factly.

"How?" That was the question that had been plaguing her all day: _How?_ She'd never been in this situation before. She had no idea where to even start to get better. If_ I get better_, she thought. She could tell that Owen was being sincere, but she couldn't help but feel skeptical.

Owen smiled reassuringly to her, playing with one of her curls. "We'll just take it slow. There's no rush."

"But _how_?"

Her question gave him pause, and he took a moment, before finally replying, "I'll think of something."

She gave him a little appreciative smile and kissed him. She had no idea how she was going to get better, but she had to trust him. Because right now, he was all she had left.

…

True to his word, Owen had put Cristina on his service the very next day and for the rest of the week. If no one else was going to give his wife a chance, he sure as hell wasn't going let her down and be forced into research. There was no way he going to let that happen to her. Ever.

Throughout the week, he'd tried to give Cristina as much space as possible by letting her have her choice of cases to work on and offering her the chance to scrub in on all of his surgeries (favorites be damned). Unfortunately, every time he'd asked her to scrub in with him, she'd politely declined. Yet, despite her reluctance to enter the OR, she would never leave. Every time he operated, he'd caught her observing him though the scrub room glass.

Today, he was tempted to try again. It had been an especially quiet morning and with no incoming traumas to attend to, it was the perfect time to try to get Cristina in the OR again, if only to observe. After rounds, he'd asked Bailey if she had any routine cases that he could borrow from her. She'd immediately understood his intent and had given him a standard bowel obstruction. He'd asked Cristina to prep the patient and was shocked to see that she'd gone so far as to don her scrub cap when they wheeled him to the operating room floor.

As the nurses wheeled the man in, Owen stopped and asked her, "Do you want to scrub in?"

Cristina tensed and took a step back from the scrub room doors as if suddenly realizing what she was doing. "Ahh…I…"

"You can just observe if you want," he quietly offered.

She bit her lip. "No, I'll scrub in," she said, as if spurred on by some unseen force.

Owen tried to keep the surprise out of his voice and smiled. "Okay."

After they washed their hands in silence, Owen handed her a towel to dry hers. "Ready?" he asked.

She gave him a slight nod, and he nodded back at her and then walked into the room. However, once in, he quickly sensed that she hadn't followed and turned around to see her balking at the OR doors.

"I…I…" she stuttered.

"It's okay," he whispered. "Take your time. Come in only when you feel ready."

Without responding, she turned around and headed back into the scrub room. Owen felt a pang of sadness as he watched her assume her position in the corner. _Damn, why'd she have to be triggered by the operating room? It wasn't fair. _

The surgery went by as quickly and routinely as planned. He felt slightly disappointed that his plan had failed but reminded himself there was always tomorrow. _Baby steps_, he thought. Suddenly, the patient crashed.

"BP's crashing," he announced. "I need suction in here."

_What the hell'd happened?_ He searched around, trying to find the cause of the bleeding. Finally, he spotted it.

"What's happening?"

Owen looked up in surprise at Cristina's sudden presence in the room. "Spleen ruptured."

Cristina's eyes nervously darted to the patient. "Do you need help?"

"Sure," he nodded in disbelief. "More suction, please," he asked the nurse. He looked back down to continue his repairs. A few moments went by, and he briefly looked up to see that Cristina was still at the scrub room door with a tortured look on her face.

"I'm sorry. I'll go page someone for you," she apologized, and then fled the room.

_Once again, it was this damn room. If only they didn't have to operate in this OR,_ he thought_. Come on, Hunt, you were a field surgeon. Where else can you get her to cut? _

…

It'd taken him a couple days, but he finally came up with a solution. Once he knew what to do, it'd only taken him a short amount of time to set things up. All that was left was Cristina, who'd gone missing.

He'd asked around the hospital, but no one had seen her all day. _She wouldn't leave without telling me_, he thought. Finally, he'd found Meredith, who'd told him that she thought Cristina was in his office. _Should have just asked her first._

Sure enough, as he turned the corner to his office, he spotted her through his window.

"You changed."

Cristina looked up at him in confusion and then glanced down at her street clothes. "Uh, yeah. So?"

"You need to change back."

"Why? I thought we were leaving. It's seven."

"I know. But before we leave, I have an idea that I want to try. I think it could work."

A flash of distrust crossed her face_. _"What 'could work'? What idea?" she slowly asked.

"I think I know how you can to operate."

Cristina's mouth dropped open. "Uh…"

"Wait. Before you say anything, hear me out," he said. Once he was sure she wasn't going to flee the room, he calmly continued. "I have us booked for an outpatient procedure, simple in-and-out. We won't be operating in an OR. If you want to cut, you can cut. If you don't, that's fine, too. You can just observe. You can do whatever you want."

She paused, and he thought that she might be seriously considering it; but then she stood up and grabbed her coat. "That's okay. Thank you. But, I think I'm going to go home."

He reached out and grabbed her arm. "Cristina, please? Trust me just this once?" he pleaded. "I know I screwed up the first time I made you go in OR, but I think this could really work. I wouldn't ask you to try it, otherwise."

She opened her mouth to protest, so he quickly qualified his statement to reassure her. "I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do, but I hope that you'll try this."

Cristina looked up at him, and he could see a whole range of emotions crossing her face. She finally took a deep breath, and slowly nodded. "Okay. I'll try. But if—"

"You can stop and leave anytime you want."

Her nerves briefly pacified, she gave him a slight nod. "Okay, I'll go change."

Owen smiled at her. "Okay, meet you back here."

…

"We're operating in Derm?" Cristina asked in disbelief as Owen opened the doors.

"Yeah, come on in," he happily replied.

_Derm? Seriously? Was this place even set up to perform surgery in?_

"They do outpatient surgeries all the time in here," Owen said, as if reading her mind. "No one's here. They all left about an hour ago and left us the room."

He walked over to the room in the corner, with its lights already on, and opened the door to let her in. He gestured around. "See? It's not an OR. It's pink. ORs don't have pink wallpaper."

"Got it—not an OR. So what are we doing here?"

"Shrapnel extraction."

_Excuse me?_ "What?"

Owen waved his hand. "Don't worry. It'll be short and straightforward. Army buddy of mine is here on leave and needs it taken out. I've been telling him to get it taken out for a while, but he's been stalling."

"So he _doesn't_ want it out?"

He gave a dismissive shrug. "Not exactly. He thinks it's lucky. But it needs to come out."

"So how'd you get him to come in?"

"Well…"

"What'd you do? Blackmail him?"

"Not exactly."

"Right." She rolled her eyes at him. _"Not exactly" my ass. There had to be some incriminating pictures or something out there,_ she thought.

He chuckled to himself as they walked out of their "OR" and towards the adjourning examining room. He was about to open the door before he paused. "Okay, just to warn you: don't believe anything this guy says."

"Why?"

"Just…don't."

_Oh, this was going to be good,_ she thought.

"Hunt!" a loud voice boomed from inside the room.

"Cole," Owen replied, walking into the room.

Cristina stood wide-eyed in the doorway watching Owen's exchange with the boisterous, dark-haired man on the examining table. _Yeah, wasn't expecting this._ Owen's army buddy seemed as if he was having the time of this life, rather than getting prepped for surgery.

"How are you doing?" Owen cheerfully asked, clasping his friend's hand in a firm handshake.

"Oh, ya know—same ol' sandpit, same ol' missions. Just flyin' my PJ's around," he enthusiastically replied. He gave Owen a quick once-over and whistled. "Man, look at you! All dressed up and pretty. Hell, I barely recognize you without your camos on and what—is that a wedding ring on your finger? You got _married_?"

Owen smiled brightly. "I did," he nodded. Looking back, he gestured to Cristina. "Maverick Cole — meet my wife, Cristina."

Cristina stepped forward and shook his hand. "It's a pleasure."

"Oh, no. The pleasure's all mine."

"When did ya guys get married?"

"A couple months ago."

"So answer me this: why in the_ world_ would a fine woman such as yourself agree to marry that brute over there?"

She couldn't help but smile. "Well, it wasn't much of a—"

"Don't say it—" he dramatically interrupted her. "He tricked you! Drunk night in Vegas? Woke up and you had a ring on your finger?"

"Cole!" Owen exclaimed, but Cristina laughed at his friend.

"What?" Cole innocently asked, gesturing to Cristina. "I'm just trying to figure out how you got this gorgeous woman to marry you, because face it, man, she is clearly _way _out of your league. Hot _and_ a doctor? Damn." He suddenly stopped. "Sorry. No offense…but, you are."

She could only shake her head at the one-man sideshow that they were about to operate on. "None taken."

"But, seriously…why?"

Cristina looked back at Owen. "Because he promised not to leave."

"Really? That's it? Wow. Hell of a sales pitch you gave her there, Hunt."

Owen simply shook his head at his friend.

"Any second thoughts?" he asked, playfully raising his eyebrows at her, not so subtly suggesting himself as a possible alternative.

"None."

"Damn. You have any sisters?"

"No."

Cole dramatically sighed. "Just my luck. But if a guy like Hunt can marry a girl like you, hell, I'm movin' up here after my tour's over." He looked over at Owen. "Speaking of which, I heard a rumor that Altman moved up here. That true?"

"Yeah, she actually works here."

"No shit. What is this place? A retirement home for the 16th?"

Owen chuckled. "No."

"She still single?"

"Very," Cristina replied.

Cole clapped his hands. "And just like that, I'm back in the game! Hey, could you do me a favor and not tell her that I was here? I'll look her up before I leave town. She'll dig my war wound."

Cristina nodded. "Sure thing."

"Hey, stop that," he pointed at her. "I see you judging! Don't judge. Chicks dig that wounded soldier shtick, I'm tellin' ya. Or hell, just ask your husband. Did he ever tell you about the time he tried to impress a girl by stapling his leg shut without being numbed?"

"Uh, actually…"

"She was there," Owen said with a smile.

Cole looked at her in awe. "No way! You're that girl? The girl with the icicle in her chest?"

"Yeah, that's me." _How'd he know about that?_ Cristina looked back at Owen, who was quickly turning bright red.

"You married icicle girl? Hot damn, that's beautiful. Congratulations!" He looked back at Cristina. "Did you know that he wouldn't shut up about you when he came back from his last leave? Heck, you're famous over there. He just kept talkin' and talkin' about how he met the girl of his dreams and how he was gonna go back and marry her. And then, sure enough, he did!" Cole laughed and clapped his hands in delight. "It damn near brings a tear to my eye. Did he ever tell you—?"

"That's enough stories," Owen interrupted. "Time to put you under." He opened the door and stuck his head out. "Dr. Knox? He's ready."

While Owen was talking with Knox, Cole looked over and gave Cristina a wide, friendly smile. "I'm really glad you two got married. Hunt's a good guy. He deserves someone like you."

She smiled. "Thanks. He is a really good man."

"Heck, it gives me hope that maybe there is someone out there for me after all. You _sure_ you don't have any sisters hidin' somewhere? Or even better, a twin? How 'bout any single friends?"

Cristina laughed again as Owen stepped back into the room.

"All right, Cole, we'll see you on the other side."

"Yeah, yeah. Quit being so melodramatic, Hunt, and take out my lucky charm so my CO will quit bitching at me."

"It's—"

"Totally unnecessary to take it out. I agree. But since you and my CO apparently have this 'thing' for getting it out of me, go ahead. But don't you dare throw it away."

Owen shook his head. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. Hey—" he addressed Cristina, "You're gonna be in there too, right? Make sure he doesn't screw up?"

"I will," she said, feeling her anxiety begin to creep in.

"Okay, well as long as your better half's in there, I guess we can get this over with, Hunt."

"We'll see you when you wake up."

"I'll be here waitin' for ya," he winked, and they both exited the room.

…

As they washed their hands in Dermatology wing's "scrub room" sink, Owen kept glancing over to see how his wife was doing. So far, it appeared that his little plan was working. Cole had seemed to put her at ease. The man had an uncanny knack for calming even the most nervous of people. It was, in fact, one of the main reasons that he'd asked him to be their patient to operate on.

He looked over again. Cristina looked less anxious then when they'd tried this a couple days ago, but he still couldn't tell for sure. He wanted to ask but didn't want to prompt her into worrying if she wasn't already.

Suddenly, she looked over at him, catching him staring. "And you're _sure_ he's okay with getting this done here?"

"Cole? Oh, sure," he reassured her. "It's better than his alternative of getting it taken out over there."

"And what_ exactly_ are we taking out of him?"

"Scrap metal from a helicopter."

Cristina's eyes widened in disbelief. "A helicopter?"

"Cole's a helicopter pilot for the PJ's, the guys that go in and extract the wounded soldiers in combat areas. He won't brag about it—he thinks it's unlucky—but Cole's one of the best pilots in the whole army. A couple months ago, he flew into a hostile area in Afghanistan and got shot down. Most chopper wrecks are fatal, but Cole saved everyone aboard. The piece of metal is from the accident. He thinks that it's his lucky charm—proof that he survived. He has some crazy superstition that it'll keep him from crashing again."

"What do you think?"

"I think he needs to get it taken out before he gets an infection. He has enough to worry about without a damn piece of metal slowing him down."

Cristina seemed to consider this and then went back to cleaning her nails with a pick. "And he came to you for help?" she asked.

_Not exactly_, he thought. "I talked to him as soon as it happened. Or should I say, I talked to one of my old colleagues who was trying to take it out of him right after it happened, but Cole was refusing. The only way we could pacify his CO was if I promised that I'd take it out for him when he came back on his next leave. A couple days ago, Cole called me up to tell me that he was in town, and the rest is history."

She nodded, reaching up to grab a towel to dry her hands. "So now, what?"

_Wow, she's really going to try this._ "Now, we're gonna go in there and take that piece of metal out. Remember, it's just you, me, Bokhee, and Dr. Knox in there—no one else. You can go in for as long or as short of a time as you want. Once we're in there, I'll make the opening incision. The metal's lodged in his scapula. Once we're in, if you want, you can assist in the extraction. Should be a simple in-and-out. Okay?"

"Okay."

"You ready?"

She paused, checking herself. "I think so."

He smiled proudly at her. "Okay, you can join whenever you want." He waited until she nodded back, and he walked into the room. He wanted her to come in the room on her own accord. He didn't want her to feel that he was pressuring her. Now, all he had to do was wait and hope she'd join him.

…

Unlike the scrub rooms on the operating floor, this little outpatient procedure room had no windows, no way to peek inside, aside from actually going into the room. _It's not an OR—it's just a damn Dermatology room. They probably do massages in here during the day_, Cristina told herself. _It's not a big deal. _She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. Before she could talk herself out of it, she stepped into the room.

Once in, she took a look around. Sure enough, it was just as Owen said: pink, perky, and definitely _not_ an operating room. _I can do this._ She tentatively walked towards the table until she was standing opposite of Owen, whose eyes were creasing in a smile.

"Ready?" he asked.

All she could do was nod. _So far, so good_. She didn't want to change anything and break the spell.

"Alright. Scalpel, please."

Bokhee handed Owen a 10-blade, and he made the first incision.

Cristina stared at him operating, while constantly checking herself. As the minutes ticked by, she kept focusing on Owen's hands, mesmerized by his precise movements. She didn't know how or why, but somehow she wasn't scared to be in here right now.

"Knox, did I tell you that Cristina and I are moving into that firehouse I told you about?"

Cristina looked up at him, snapped out of her reverie.

"You are? Congratulations! Sounds like a great place."

"It is. Cristina actually bought it for us."

"Really? You did?" Knox asked.

She silently nodded back at him. She knew what Owen was trying to do and was grateful for the little distraction.

"Can you please talk to my wife? Because I've wanted to move into a place like that forever," Knox continued.

Still not trusting her voice, Cristina simply nodded back at him. Knox surprised her. She'd never talked to the anesthesiologist before, but he seemed like a very friendly guy. She was beginning to suspect that Owen had assembled a crack team of the most easy-going people he knew for this little operation.

"Are you going to renovate it?"

"We have to. Right now, it's pretty gutted," Owen replied.

"That should be fun. Are you going to keep the fire pole?"

"Of course," Cristina said, surprising herself.

Knox raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I'm _definitely_ having you talk to my wife."

This made Cristina slightly chuckle. She was feeling more and more at ease. "So how are you going to extract the object?" she asked Owen, who looked up at her in surprise.

"Do you want to try?"

"Uh, show me." She wasn't _that _much at ease.

Owen nodded at her and explained, "Well, since it's lodged behind his acrominon process, I'll make a lateral incision here and then…pull this back and…" He grabbed the thin metal object with a tweezers. "There we go, it's out. Can you get me a tray?"

Cristina carefully turned around and grabbed the tray behind her, handing it over to Owen. He dropped the piece of jagged metal into the basin.

"Thank you. Remind me not to throw that away by accident."

Cole's voice popped into her head, making her smile. She placed the tray back on the cart.

"Okay, let's close him up. You want to do it?"

She shook her head. "No, it's okay." The procedure was almost finished. She had come this far; she didn't want to fail now.

Owen went down and neatly stitched up his friend's shoulder. "All done."

"Good job, Dr. Yang."

Cristina looked up in surprise at Bokhee.

_Bokhee talked_? "Uh…thank you…" she stuttered in shock.

She looked over at Owen, who seemed as surprised as she was. He simply shrugged and smiled. "All right, Knox, let's wake him up."

…

"I can't believe Bokhee talked," Cristina laughed, leaning into the warmth of Owen's embrace as they walked down the city street.

"I know."

"I made Bokhee talk. Maybe it _is_ the end for me. It's a sign; I'm finished."

Owen shook his head. "You're not finished."

She smiled and looked up at him, placing her hand on his chest. "Thank you for doing that for me."

"It was nothing," he shrugged.

"It wasn't 'nothing.' How'd you even get that approved by the chief?"

"If anyone asks, we were never there."

"You didn't get it approved?"

"Not exactly."

"Then how—?"

"I can't tell you. It's classified."

_Oh, brother. Two hours with_ _Cole, and he was back in the army._ She rolled her eyes at him.

"I like him."

"Who? Cole?"

"Yeah."

Owen smiled. "Cole's a good guy."

"He's quite the character."

"Oh, he's hilarious. I can't tell you how many times he's gotten into trouble for his antics. But he's a hell of a pilot, though. I'll invite him over before he goes back. You'll get a kick out of him. Just wait 'til he _really_ gets on a roll."

"I'd like that," she paused, thinking back to their earlier conversation. "You really talked about me over there?"

A light blush suddenly appeared on his face. "Maybe a little."

"Seemed like more than a little."

"Okay, a lot," he conceded.

She smiled up at him. "It's okay. I thought a lot about you, too."

Owen beamed, leaning down to kiss her on her lips.

They both walked arm in arm down the city block. Her thoughts soon went back to the surgery they just performed. _I can't believe I did it._

"I stayed in there the whole time," she mumbled to herself.

"Yes, you did."

"I mean…" Cristina trailed off. "I really did it."

"I knew you could."

She could hear the sincerity in his voice. The unwavering belief he had in her. She stopped and stood in front of him. "I don't want to be a plumber. I'm a surgeon…it's just whenever I go in…"

"I know. The important thing right now is that you stayed in there for the whole operation tonight. And you were you okay with it, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I was."

"Then everything else, we can deal with. We'll just ease back into surgery. Baby steps. There's no rush, Cristina. And don't worry, the others will never attain your surgical greatness, anyways."

"You're just saying that because you're my husband."

He smiled. "No, I'm not."

"Do you really think that I can get better?" she quietly asked.

Owen reached up and stroked her hair. "Cristina, I know you'll get better. There isn't a doubt in my mind. We'll just take it day by day. Okay?"

"Okay."

He smiled, wrapping is arm around her and started walking down the sidewalk again.

She leaned into him, wrapping her arm back around him. What he did for her tonight…she couldn't think of enough ways to thank him. He'd helped her restore a little faith in herself. _I think I can get better,_ she thought. _Just_…_baby steps._


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: All characters are unfortunately property of ABC. No copyright infringement is intended – for non-commercial entertainment purposes only.**

**Author's Note: **I have to thank my wonderful beta Shli for helping and encouraging me with this chapter. I apologize for the delay - it's been a little hectic these past couple weeks. This chapter takes place after 7.05. There is a little rated M scene in the middle of this one. I lead into it - so if you're not into that sort of thing, just skip to the next section. It's also my first time writing this sort of scene, so manage your expectations accordingly ;) Thank you again to everyone who has left reviews. I really appreciate them!

* * *

Cristina closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief as she walked through the hospital's sliding doors. Just the mere act of exiting the building made her feel lighter—as if all the pressure she'd felt throughout the day was suddenly lifted off her shoulders and she could breathe again. Today, she had felt it more than ever. However, the additional pressure had turned out to be worth it.

_Sourpuss. Whatever. _She didn't have a sourpuss. She did, although, have to admit that Roy was growing on her. She didn't know how, but the prickly patient had quickly gotten under her skin and put her firmly in his corner. _He can't die_, she repeated to herself.

She walked down the sidewalk to discover that their bench was empty. _How'd I beat him?_ she thought, sitting down on the metal bench to wait for Owen. She took a brief glance back at the hospital to see if he was coming but instead only spotted Mark, Arizona, and Callie emerging from the building.

"Who says no to a burn unit? A self-funded burn unit?" Mark loudly complained.

"How about tiny humans?" Arizona added, halting a few steps in front of the hospital. "I can't believe he said no to the tiny humans. Who _does_ that?"

Callie ran a hand through her hair and sighed exasperatedly, "Oh, will you two just stop already! We _all_ lost."

"I didn't lose. The chief just chose poorly."

Callie rolled her eyes at her best friend. "Yeah, whatever."

"What are we waiting for? Are we going to Joe's or what?" Mark asked, gesturing towards the direction of the hospital's local haunt.

"Teddy's coming," Arizona cheerfully explained. "I told her to meet us out front."

"What'd she pitch?" Callie asked.

"I don't know. Something about regeneration…I forget."

"Wouldn't matter," Mark bitterly interrupted, turning towards Callie, "Face it Torres—you won. You got to all of us."

"Oh, come on. I did not. What happened to your smooth-talking plan?"

"It was going great until…"

"Until what?"

"Until he sort of asked me to leave," Mark mumbled.

"He asked you to leave? What did you say?" Callie laughed.

Arizona reached over and touched Mark's shoulder. "I hit him with a pack of tissues if it makes you feel better."

He shrugged. "A little."

"What'd Derek pitch?"

Mark looked up from the ground at Callie. "Cure for Alzheimer's."

"Seriously? Wow. Yeah, well I guess my cow parts were never going to beat that."

"Burn center should have."

"Sorry, guys," Teddy apologized, trotting out of the hospital.

Arizona smiled, shaking her head. "No problem. You ready to go?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Then let's go. And Mark said he's buying."

"I said _what?"_

The women laughed at his reaction and Cristina watched the sore losers walk away in the direction of the bar. She'd completely forgotten about the attendings' contest today. _Well, sounds like Shepherd won it. Surprise, surprise_, she thought, looking back at the hospital doors, hoping that Owen would emerge from the hospital soon.

_Hell, Owen probably volunteered to give the money away_, she thought, chuckling to herself as she absentmindedly checked her watch again. She'd seen her husband in action firsthand when he competed for the possible Harper Avery surgery with the Chief. He had no game when it came to playing dirty with his colleagues to get what he wanted. He was simply too honest and earnest to play dirty. _If only he'd just unleash his badass self on them, he'd beat them all. _She smiled to herself. _Yeah, that'll never happen._

"Hey!"

Cristina's head shot up at the sound of Owen's voice. She was about to stand up when he surprised her by pulling her up off the bench and kissing her soundly on the lips.

"What—?"

"I won!" Owen exclaimed.

"You what?" Cristina was shocked.

"I won the grant." Owen excitedly nodded at her, simply beaming with pride.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned up to kiss him again. "Congratulations." Suddenly, she remembered the other attendings' conversation from a moment ago. "But I heard that Shepherd—"

"I know," he shrugged, obviously bewildered. "But the Chief gave it to me."

"Wow." Cristina shook her own head in disbelief. Never in a million years would she have thought that Owen would have gone toe-to-toe with Shepherd and come out on top. She felt a surge of pride for her husband. _Someone must have finally let loose on them_. "We have to go out and celebrate."

"Oh, we don't have to do that. You're probably exhausted. We can go out later this week."

"Owen, you just won a million dollar grant. We're celebrating. Now where do you want to go?"

Owen wrapped his arm around her waist. "Home."

"Home?" _Seriously?_

"Yes."

"We can't just go home. Let's go out and celebrate."

"'I'd rather just go home with you," he said, giving her waist a squeeze to emphasize his point.

"You sure know how to live it up, huh?" she sarcastically replied.

Owen leaned over to her and whispered in her ear, "Oh, I could think of _many_ ways to celebrate with you."

His suggestive tone said it all. She smiled up at him. "All right. Home it is, then."

…

"To us."

"To us," Cristina smiled, clinking her champagne glass with Owen's and kissing him. He tasted like a combination of chocolate and champagne.

She put her glass back down on the side table and took another bite of one of the many half-eaten desserts that filled the room service trays covering their large bed. They'd ordered everything off the extensive room service dessert menu, along with the best champagne they had to offer to celebrate Owen's win.

She had to admit living in the "honeymoon" suite for the past couple weeks while their house was being renovated was hardly a hardship. The room service alone was worth it. _Maybe we could renovate once a month, _she thought, smiling inwardly to herself.

"I'm going to miss this when we have to move out."

Owen leaned over her to take another forkful of a chocolate tart. "I know."

"But I'll like having our own place."

He smiled at her comment and took another forkful. "Try this," he said, feeding her the dessert.

"Hmm…try this one too." She fed him a dessert next to her. They really ordered too much. _But, whatever. We're celebrating._ She took another sip of the champagne. "Hey, I have a question."

Owen's immediately stopped eating and focused on her.

"Say a patient is 57 years old. Severe pulmonary hypertension. He'll definitely need a lung transplant, but he has a strong will to live. Do you think he'll make it?"

He shrugged. "It depends on whether they let him on the list—sounds borderline."

"But he's a fighter."

"Without a transplant—"

"I got Roy on the list."

A slight smile crossed Owen's face. "Well, in that case, I think he has a shot." He paused. "I've worked on more people that I could count that—according to all of the textbooks, past precedents, and hell, even common sense—shouldn't have survived. Yet, they did. And there is nothing to explain it. The only thing that I can think of that set them apart from everyone else was that their will to live was so strong that they survived despite the incredible odds stacked against them. Do you think Roy's a fighter?"

"Yeah."

"Then I bet he will."

Cristina looked at him, testing his sincerity, but he kept a steady, honest gaze. "He called me 'sourpuss.'"

Owen laughed. "_Sourpuss?"_

She shrugged it off. "Whatever."

"That's okay. Just wait 'til he hears you laugh. He won't call you sourpuss anymore."

"I like him," she quietly admitted.

"Well, he's lucky to have you as his surgeon, then."

Her guilt over her inability to do anything lately as a surgeon lately crept in at the mention of the word, and her mood immediately darkened. She imperceptibly nodded and looked down at her lap.

"Even if his surgeon does occasionally consider taking her husband outside and kicking his ass in the alley in the middle of the day."

"I did not," she protested, unable to stop her lips from curling into a slight smile.

Owen knowingly raised his eyebrow at her. "For a second there you did."

"I did—"

"Don't worry about it. I would love having you kick my ass any day."

She smirked and then playfully raised her own eyebrow back at him. "I could, you know."

"I know. I wasn't joking when I offered. It'd be sexy as hell."

She rolled her eyes. "So, Richie Rich, tell me. What was your pitch for the grant?"

"Trauma certification for their entire hospital. In case a mass casualty situation happens again, our doctors would know what to do and people wouldn't have to needlessly die. They'll be trained to handle the situation and respond accordingly."

"So what? You're going to go all GI Joe on their asses?"

"Something like that," he smirked, leaning back against the headboard.

She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," he softly replied. "At least someone is."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The others, well…"

_Oh, Owen. _He still had no idea who he worked with. "You thought that_ those_ people were going to be happy for you?" She laughed at her own suggestion. "Owen, come on. You _really_ thought that they'd be happy that you beat them?"

"I would have," he said, sincerely.

"And that's why you're 'you' and they're 'them.' They're all jealous because you're the surgeon to beat now."

Owen scoffed at her suggestion. "I'm not the—"

"You are. You beat McDreamy, who I'm guessing played Meredith's 'dead mommy' card."

"The what?"

"The 'dead mommy' card. No one has ever trumped the 'dead mommy' card. Admit it; you're the top surgeon at the hospital now."

"Well, I…"

"You are, and I'm proud of you."

"I'm proud of you, too. Sounds like you had a good day."

"Well, it wasn't exactly—"

"You saved that man's life. That's a good day."

She smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you."

Owen leaned over to kiss her. "Ready to go to bed?" he asked as he started to clear their trays from the bed.

"Bed?"

He looked over at her. "Yeah."

_He wants to go to _bed_?_ "Uh…one minute. I'll be right back."

…

Cristina walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

_He can't seriously think that we're just going to bed? Can he? Oh my god, we're turning into Meredith and Derek. Oh, this is_ not _happening._

Cristina opened the bench compartment underneath the sink to reveal the lingerie that she'd bought last week. After listening in silent horror to Meredith talk about how "funny" it was how she and Derek had "married person" sex with their pajamas still half-on, Cristina had immediately gone proactive and had bought all the necessary garments to ensure that she would _never _have that happen to her and Owen.

It wasn't that she didn't like being married—she actually really loved being married to Owen—she just wasn't going to stand by and let them succumb to a mundane, boring routine. Not that their sex life could ever be dull, but that was beside the point. The point was that she was never going to have sex in her pajamas or go to sleep when they should be celebrating.

She quickly donned the red lace bustier and garter set and admired herself in the mirror for a minute. The lingerie clung to her body in all the right places. _Yeah, I look damn good_. She smiled, threw her hair up into a messy bun, and opened the bathroom door.

"So…are you ready to celebrate?" she asked, leaning against the doorway.

Owen jaw literally dropped at the sight of her.

_I'll take that as a yes_, she thought to herself as she walked over to the foot of the bed and stood at the end.

He quickly recovered and rose out of bed to stand next to her. She teasingly traced her finger up his chest and whispered, "Well…are you?"

Owen smiled, shaking his head, "You're going to be the death of me."

Cristina laughed and then wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. "I know." She slightly nipped his bottom lip. He broke away to reverently lay a trail of kisses down her neck, all the while caressing her breast. She closed her eyes, giving in to the pleasure of his lips against her flesh, while he teased her nipple through the thin, lace material.

As he made his way back up her neck, he paused, whispering in her ear, "This is new."

"I bought it for you." She kissed him again, while stroking him through his boxers.

Owen groaned. "God, I love you."

She pulled slightly away, chuckling.

"There's just one problem with it though."

She cocked an eyebrow, waiting for his sly remark. "And what's that?"

"It's gotta come off."

Before she could react, she let out a surprised yelp as Owen lifted her up off the ground and placed her onto the bed. She reached up and stroked his face, smiling.

"I love it when you smile," he whispered, stroking her jaw line.

He slipped the lace straps off her shoulders. The mirth mixed with lust in his eyes confirmed that she'd made the right selection. He continued down, slowly unbuttoning each button, before finally unsnapping the garter snaps to remove the bustier.

After removing the bustier, he surprised her by continuing downward, slowly removing each of her stockings, leaving a trail of kisses from her inner thigh to her ankle. It was tantalizingly slow, and Cristina felt the aching pulse between her legs get stronger and more painful as he rubbed her clit through her lace panties. _My god, I never would have put the damn things on if it meant that I was going to be tortured like this._ Finally, after removing both articles of lingerie, he moved forward, stopping between her legs.

He grinned as he removed her underwear in earnest. She gasped in pleasure as he began to pleasure her with his tongue.

"Oh, god," she moaned, writhing in response to his movements. He continued to teasingly flick his tongue against her clit until she was literally mindless with need. Without missing a beat, Owen placed one finger in her and began to slowly stroke her. Cristina's hips immediately bucked at the intrusion. He inserted another finger while continuing his steady rhythm. He quickened the rhythm of his fingers and his tongue, sending her perilously close to the edge. One more flick of his tongue…and she was lost in ecstasy, crying out his name and curling her toes in pleasure.

With her head still thrown back in pleasure, she rode the aftershocks of her orgasm, feeling Owen kiss her belly as he pulled himself upward to meet her. She could feel his hard length pressed against her abdomen.

"Please," she whimpered. She raised her hips in encouragement, and he entered her in one long stroke.

When he didn't move, she opened her eyes in confusion and looked up at him. He gazed down at her, his eyes full of loving adoration. "You're beautiful," he whispered breathlessly before capturing her mouth in a passionate kiss.

He began to thrust, slowly, soon establishing a steady rhythm that her hips matched stroke for stroke. Cristina arched up against him and raked her fingers against his back, pulling him deeper. Their hip movements increased in pace, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Before long, the pleasure of him pounding against her caused her come once again.

Owen followed closely after her, calling out her name as he came. He collapsed on top of her, both of their chests heaving and bodies covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He rolled off of her and onto his side, watching her.

Cristina sighed in contentment, rubbing her leg against his. "Just wait 'til you see what else I bought."

Owen shook his head, smiling. "Can I tell you again how much I love you?"

"Sure." She smiled back and leaned over to kiss him. "Love you, too." She pulled away. "But just so you know—just because we're married now, we're never just 'going to bed'."

"What?"

"You said, 'We're going to bed.' That's step one to having boring married sex."

Owen laughed. "Is that what you thought? I didn't mean go to sleep."

"What did you mean, then?"

"Apparently, the same thing you did." He caressed her arm. "And don't worry, I don't think we could ever be boring."

"Well, good."

She rolled over to her side and spooned her body against his. Owen's arm automatically encircled her waist in response. She closed her eyes in the comfort of his arms, finally succumbing to her exhaustion from the day. She felt herself drifting off before she was nuzzled awake by Owen's beard tickling her cheek.

"So what else did you buy?" he whispered in her ear.

…

"Good morning."

Cristina jumped in shock at Owen's sudden appearance behind her. "Morning," she replied, trying to cover up her reaction. Poorly.

"Sorry," he apologized, reaching out to tenderly rub her arm.

"I'm fine," she replied, her heart still rapidly pounding in her chest.

Owen walked over and stood beside her, leaning against the bathroom counter. "You been up long?"

"No." _Yes. _

"Same dream?" he asked, seeing right through the lie.

"Yes." He knew all about "the dream." "The dream" where she would see him get shot and not get up. She used to have it every night. Now it was once a week.

Owen moved over to hold her in his arms and she let him, enjoying the comfort of his arms. She felt him kiss her hair.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

_No._ She shook her head underneath his chin. She knew she probably should. Hell, that was Dr. Wyatt's unrelenting motto to her the past couple months. But right now, she couldn't.

"You can talk to me, you know."

She looked up into his eyes, full of concern. "I know." She paused, steadying herself, trying to find the words. "I just…It was…It was the one…Can we talk about it later?"

"It's okay," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "I understand."

She knew he did, but it didn't change how she felt, trapped in this unrelenting nightmare that seemed to have no escape.

"You can take me back to the bedroom…and have your way with me."

Cristina looked back up at him and gave him an appreciative smile at his attempt to lighten her mood.

"It'll make you feel better."

"We have to go to work."

"We can go fast," he grinned.

"I need to take a shower." To emphasize her point, she walked over to turn on the shower nozzle.

"That'll work too."

That really wasn't what she meant, but before she could respond Owen quickly disrobed and jumped into the shower.

"Can I wash your hair?"

"Do you really need to ask?"

…

"Oh, look who it is! How are you doing this morning, sourpuss?"

Cristina closed the door and looked over at Roy, giving him a slight smile. "I'm good. How are you feeling today?"

"Like a million bucks, thanks to you."

She placed her blood testing supplies on the bed and looked over at him. _Thanks to me?_

"Oh, don't give me that confused look, sourpuss. I know it was you. I overheard the perky one complaining to someone how you went behind her back to recommend me for the transplant. I always knew I liked you more."

She bit the inside of her lip to stop the smile and look of pure satisfaction that she was feeling from crossing her face. "Can I have your arm?"

Roy stuck his arm out like an eager schoolboy. As she was removing the third vial from his arm, she heard the door slide open behind her and the person give a slight cough.

Cristina looked up to see that Owen had entered the room and was flipping through Roy's chart. She'd asked him on their drive over to the hospital to give his opinion on Roy. "Oh, yes…Roy, this is —"

"You gonna tell me that I need a heart transplant, too?"

Owen looked up from the chart and graciously smiled. "No, sir."

"I asked him to take a look over at your chart," she explained.

Roy gave a little humph and squinted at Owen's shirt. "Head…of…Trauma?" He looked back over at Cristina. "Sourpuss, you not tellin' me something?"

"No, Roy, this is my husband, Dr. Owen Hunt. He just happens to be the Head of Trauma here."

Owen stuck his hand out. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Roy shook his hand, but then furrowed his brow in confusion. "You're married?"

"I am."

"Ha," he cackled. "Never saw that one comin'."

She couldn't help but smile and simply shrug back at him.

"But…no ring?"

"I don't wear it at work."

In response, Owen held his hand up to show off his band.

Roy cracked a smile and weakly shook a finger at Cristina. "Ahh…you pulled a fast one on me, sourpuss. Here I was hoping on introducing you to my nephew and getting you in my family after this was all over, but you're already taken."

"I am," she said, smiling.

"Eh…it's okay." He paused, violently coughing. "Excuse me. I'm happy for you, and you seem like an all right guy. And plus we have something in common, you and I."

Owen raised his eyebrows. "What's that?"

"You're the only one who can make sourpuss smile besides me."

Cristina looked over to see Owen swell up with pride. "I try," he said, casually shrugging.

"Well, keep tryin'. She has a nice smile." He paused, nodding at Cristina. "You need to smile more often."

"Just wait 'til you hear her laugh."

"Owen."

Roy chuckled, but suddenly grew serious, pointing his finger at Owen. "You better realize how lucky you are. She doesn't say a whole lot to me, but I can tell that she's a special one. You know that, right?"

"I do, sir. She's made me the happiest man in the world."

Cristina slipped her hand into his and gave it an appreciative squeeze.

"Well, good."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Owen's pager suddenly went off. He gave it a brief look before silencing it.

"Go answer that. Don't let me keep you."

"Oh, it's just—"

"Go. I know you're a busy man. I appreciate you coming up here to see me. It was nice meeting you, Dr. Hunt."

"Call me Owen."

Roy smiled. "Then you should call Roy. It seems that I'm going to be sticking around here for a bit longer. Come back and visit with sourpuss here."

Owen nodded. "I will."

Cristina gathered her things to follow Owen out the door. "I'll be back to check on you, Roy, okay?"

"I'll be here, sourpuss."

She quickly left the room to see that Owen was waiting for her.

"So what do you think?" she asked, following him down the hall.

"About…?"

She gestured back towards Roy's room. "Is he gonna make it?"

"I think he has the best chance of anyone. You were right. He's a fighter."

"You're sure?"

"It's what my gut is telling me."

"Your _gut_? You're going with your _gut_?"

Owen leaned over to whisper in her ear. "It worked for me last time."

She smiled and stopped, reaching the point of their intersection. "Okay. Thank you."

He smiled back at her. "I'll see you after work, okay?"

"Okay."

He gave her a quick kiss goodbye and then walked away.

_His gut?_ She asked for his opinion on whether the only patient she'd cared for was going to make it and he went with his gut. She looked back down the hall at… _Well, it did work for him last time._


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: All characters are unfortunately property of ABC. No copyright infringement is intended – for non-commercial entertainment purposes only.**

**Author's Note: **As always, I have to first and foremost thank my fabulous beta, Shli. Without whom, you would be subjected to reading all sorts of interesting punctuation that I somehow made up along the way ;) I apologize for the long delay. It's been a little crazy with work and the holidays this past month. As for the one-shot/chapter order, I skipped 7.06 and this one is based on a combination of 7.07 and 7.08. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Owen watched as Cristina rapidly ascended the stairs and sighed, shaking his head in frustration. She'd yet to utter another word to him since she'd first told him that she'd quit the program in the ambulance bay. Her admission had stunned him into silence; and by the time he'd recovered, she'd refused to discuss it further. He'd tried talking to her on the car ride home, but she'd simply ignored his questions and continued to stare out the window.

He didn't even know where to start. Her decision had been so sudden, so unexpected, that it'd taken him completely off-guard. Yes, he knew that she'd been struggling, but he never thought that it would come to this. He absentmindedly locked the door and followed his wife up the stairs.

Once on the second story, he found Cristina standing in the middle of the room with her back to him, switching her gaze from one side of the room to the other.

"What if we keep this wall and knock that one down, instead?"

"What?"

She cocked her head, squinting her eyes in concentration. "Well, if you look at it from this angle you can see—"

"Cristina?"

"Yeah?" she replied, finally looking over at him.

He paused, trying to figure out where to start. "Do you want to talk about this?"

"About what?"

"About how you quit?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "What's there to talk about? I quit." She promptly turned around and walked into their bedroom.

_This is going to be a long night._ "Cristina…"

His plea went unanswered as he heard the bathroom door slam shut, followed by the sound of the shower turning on. He briefly considered following her in but decided instead to give her some space – and give _himself_ some time to think and come up with a plan.

He sat down on the bed and rubbed his bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the headache that had been building for the past hour. Once again, he looked over at the closed bedroom door. His need to go in there and hold her was becoming overwhelming_. To hell with a plan_, he thought, _I just want to make sure she's okay._

He made it three steps to the door before he stopped himself. _No, give her space_. With nothing else to do, he undressed and opened the box labeled "Journals," picking the first journal off the top. It was the _New England Journal of Medicine's_ Annual "Surgeons to Watch" issue. He remembered the night Cristina read this issue in bed next to him and told him that she was going to be on the cover one day. _"You could make the second page_ _if you'd stopped giving your surgeries away, _she'd said to him. His pleasant memory quickly faded into anger from his frustration and he threw the magazine back into the box.

The minutes ticked by agonizingly slowly as he waited for her to emerge from the bathroom. It'd been almost ten minutes since he'd heard her turn the shower off and his patience was wearing thin. Just as he was about to go knock on the door, it flew open, bathing the dark room in bright light.

"Why is Meredith fine?"

Her question and angry tone took him aback. "What?"

"How is she fine? We were both in that operating room. Yet somehow she's perfectly fine, and I'm screwed up. Why?" she demanded as she pulled a shirt out of a box and threw it over her head.

"I…" he stammered. He hadn't been prepared for this line of questioning.

His hesitancy went unnoticed as she continued on. "And then, she acts all shocked when she asks me why I'm upset."

Owen furrowed his brow. _When did this happen?_ He hadn't heard that the "twisted sisters" were on the outs, but then he never really did. _She's going to be furious when she finds out that I sent Meredith to help her, _he thought. "You talked to her about this tonight?"

"She asked," she replied, defensively. "Hell, she followed me around all day, watching me like I was going to screw up at any minute."

"I asked her to," he admitted.

"I know. She told me. Still doesn't excuse her for treating me like I was some damn intern. I may be screwed up, but I'm not suddenly an idiot." She sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "I was waiting for Teddy on the roof, and she followed me up there. I wasn't going to say anything, but she kept asking me what was wrong. She wouldn't let it go. So, finally, I asked her why she's fine."

Owen winced then quickly tried to control the expressions on his face. _There was no way in hell that that conversation went well. _

"It's not fair," she said, sitting down on the bed with a huff. "Why am _I_ the one who's screwed up when _she_ was the one with her husband on the table, begging to get shot?"

"Because she didn't go through the same experience as you."

"Yes, she di—"

"She didn't, though," he gently interrupted her, placing his hand on top of hers. "Believe me, I know exactly what you're feeling, asking yourself, 'Why me?' I constantly wondered why I came home with PTSD when so many of my friends were perfectly fine."

His words seemed to strike a chord with her, and he noticed the angry tension in her face begin to dissipate.

"It took over a hundred sessions with Wyatt until I was finally able to realize and admit that there was a reason that it happened to me and not the others. I simply went through different experiences than they did. And for one reason or another, I developed PTSD from it. It's not fair, but it happened." He paused, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Cristina, you operated on Shepherd for over an hour at gunpoint—Meredith didn't. And for almost that entire time, you were in there operating all by yourself. You were the one who saved his life."

She pulled her hand away. "Being a hero has a price," she whispered, looking away from his glance.

Her words, once again, felt like a physical punch to his gut as he heard how much she was hurting inside.

She looked back up and waved her hand, dismissing her comment. "I mean…whatever. That's just what I told those documentary people. They wanted me to give them a sound bite of what I 'learned' from the experience."

"You'll get better. I promise."

She simply nodded at him and got up off the bed, walking over to shut off the bathroom light. The room was instantly drowned in darkness. She soon joined him in bed, slipping under the covers. He immediately wrapped his arm around her waist, spooning their bodies together in their familiar embrace. Suddenly, she turned in his arms to face him.

"Are you disappointed in me?"

"What? No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not disappointed in you."

"Really?" she whispered.

"Yes. It's just…you never mentioned anything to me and I thought…I mean…What happened? What made you decide to…?" he trailed off. Suddenly, it came to him. _Roy._ "Did you lose your patient?" he gently asked.

"No. I saved him."

He saw a brief look of satisfaction cross her face. "Then, why did you…?"

"I had to."

"Are you sure you want to quit? You could always take a leave of absence—still stay in the program but just take some time off. I bet Webber would have no problem if you wanted to do that."

"But I don't love it anymore. I've tried. I've tried so hard to love it again. and I don't. Every time I walk into a room, there's no rush, no excitement. I'm just afraid. I'm afraid all the time. And I've tried…and…I don't want to be a surgeon anymore. I don't."

Her honest, even tone disheartened him. She was completely sure about her decision. Even worse, he had a feeling that this wasn't a rash decision. "How long have you thought about this?"

"For a while, now."

He could only slightly nod. He didn't know what to say.

"I had to do it. I know you don't understand, but I had to."

"Cristina, I'm the last person who needs an explanation. I understand. I just want you to do whatever makes you happy. If you don't want to be a surgeon anymore, that's okay. I'm going to support you in whatever you want to do. But are you _sure_ about this?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation.

With nothing more to say, he could only whisper, "Okay."

She gave him a little smile and turned in his arms again, pulling his arm into a tight embrace.

"I feel like I can breathe again," she whispered.

He closed his eyes and kissed her head though her hair, grateful that she couldn't see the undoubtedly pained expression on his face. "It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay," he whispered back, more to himself than to her.

She kissed his hand in thanks and relaxed in his arms. After a few minutes, he could tell that she was fast asleep, the stress of the day exhausting her. However, he was wide awake with worry. All he could think was how he had Cristina with him, wrapped in his arms, but with every passing day, he was losing her.

…

"Are you sure you'll be okay for the day?"

Cristina rolled her eyes at Owen's question. His savior complex had been on high alert all week. "I don't know. Another whole day all by myself…"

"I can stay," he replied, a little too eagerly.

"Owen, I'm _fine._ I've been here by myself all week. I think I'll be able to survive for another day on my own."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Now go."

He turned and began walking down the stairs. Slowly.

_Five, four, three, two—_

He stopped. "Because, if you want me to—"

"I'm _fine_. Now leave before I kick your ass out the front door," she sharply replied. _Seriously, this routine was getting ridiculous._

"Okay," he nodded.

"Okay."

He took one step down. "You know you can call me—"

"Owen!"

He held his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm leaving." However, instead of going down, he went back up and kissed her on the cheek. "Love you. I'll be back at five."

"Okay," she smiled. Not too encouragingly though, or else they would have to go through his whole "I'm leaving" routine yet again, as she'd learned from this past week's experience.

After a few moments, she heard the front door quietly close below her and once again, she was alone. The silent house had been a nice refuge for the first couple days when she'd mostly slept. Well, she'd "danced it out" for a little bit, but mostly slept. She'd never had absolutely _nothing_ to do before. It'd been nice – luxurious, even – to relax for a couple days as she'd caught up on six months' worth of sleep. But now, she was starting to grow bored with nothing to do.

_Well, I could always start unpacking all these boxes_, she thought, looking around at the dozens' of unopened boxes around her. Owen had told her to wait until he could help her this weekend, but since there was nothing to do…

She walked back into the bedroom and grabbed a pair of scissors off the nightstand. _Where do I even start?_ She walked around, bypassing the boring ones first until she saw one labeled, "Owen/College/Army." _This'll be fun_, she thought and tore into the box.

…

"I'm going to take him down for a CT. Meet me there in ten?"

"Yeah, sure," Owen absentmindedly replied to Teddy. Here, the fate of peace in the Middle East was seemingly in their hand and all he could think about was Cristina and the Chief's letter. _What am I going to do?_

An intervention was out of the question. Meredith was right. Cristina throwing a party was completely out of character for her. _A housewarming party? How the hell was that going to work? We don't have any furniture_. He pushed the thought aside. He had bigger issues to think about.

He checked his pager and phone. Nothing from Cristina. _This isn't good. _

"Where'd the patient go?"

Owen turned around at the sound of Meredith's voice. "Teddy took him down to CT. Do you mind if I talk to you for a minute?"

"Uh, sure. What about the patient?"

"He's stable. We have to meet Teddy down there in ten."

Meredith nodded and then turned to close the door. "If you want to ask me about Cristina, she hasn't talked to me since she left."

"I know."

"Her throwing a party is not a sign of her getting better. Especially a housewarming party."

He nodded in agreement. "I know that, too."

"Has she said anything to you?"

"About quitting?" he qualified, earning a nod from Meredith. "Not much," he shrugged. "We talked a little the night she quit, but since then…nothing. When I try to talk to her about anything work-related, she changes the subject. I don't know. She seems fine with her decision. And maybe she did need the break. But, Meredith, this can't be what she wants."

"I agree."

"We have to do something. I can't see her just give up like this. I wanted to give her as much time and space as she needed, but now the Chief has to send a letter to the Board explaining that she left the program."

Meredith's eyes widened. "Can he wait?"

"I asked him to, but I don't know how long he can hold off sending it. What I _do_ know is that we can't gang up on her and pressure her. Teddy wants to do an intervention tonight, but that'll backfire. It's too much. I was thinking that maybe if you and Derek would come over and just—"

"She doesn't want to talk to me," she interrupted. "I bet she doesn't even want to _see _me. Owen, she told me that she blames me. She blames me for how she is. Do you really think that she's really going to want to sit down and talk?"

"She doesn't blame you."

"Yes, she does."

"That's just her anger talking. She has no one to blame, so unfortunately she's directing her frustration at you. You're her 'person,'" he explained, the term "person" feeling awkward coming out of his mouth. "Just give her time. I know it's hard to stand back and wait, but if we give her the time and help she needs, she will get better. It's just going to take some time."

"Is she getting any help? Going to see Wyatt or someone?"

"Not as much as she needs to," he conceded. "She comes with me to my sessions, but she's basically given up on hers. She says that it's not working. I've tried to keep her going, but she…" he trailed off, shaking his head in frustration. "I'm worried that she'll stop going entirely now since she's not here anymore. If that happens, then I don't know what I'll do."

Meredith bit her lip and nodded, considering his words. Or at least he hoped she was considering his words. It felt good to have someone to voice his concerns about Cristina to.

A few moments ticked by before she finally spoke. "She's going to regret doing this."

"I know. And now there's a deadline involved."

"Let me talk to Derek. Maybe we can figure something out and meet you two tomorrow."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

His pager's alarm pierced the quiet room. He took a brief glance at it. "It's them."

"We'll figure something out," Meredith gently said, placing her hand on his arm.

He smiled, nodding in gratitude. "Thank you."

…

"_Hello!_ Cristina! Can you give me a hand over here?"

Cristina dismissed Callie's complaining with a wave of her hand and continued her conversation with the repairman. "Can we slide down it, now?"

"I reinforced it to hold at least 600 pounds—"

"But can we slide down it?" She didn't care about the technical details—all she wanted to know was if she could slide down her damn pole. The man slung his tools over his shoulder and glanced back at the pole. "Yeah, no problem."

"Fantastic!" she beamed. "You take credit cards?"

"Yes, ma'am."

_Well, that was easy. She_ dug her wallet out of her purse and selected a card at random. _I haven't used the gold one yet today_, she thought and handed it over to the man. "Here you go."

"Cristina!"

She snapped her attention back to Callie, who was teetering precariously on a ladder, holding up a curtain rod.

"Can you help me? Since _I'm_ the one who's putting up your curtains?"

_Nah, that doesn't look fun._ She grabbed the metal invoice holder from the repairman and gestured towards the curtains. "Here, I'll fill that out. Can you go hold that for her?"

"Uh…sure?"

When he didn't immediately move, she gestured once again for him to go help with the curtain. _Why is he so shocked? He's a handyman. Time to go be handy. _While they were positioning the curtains,Cristina walked over to examine her new pole. She'd wanted to slide down it ever since she bought the place, but Owen's warning about something to do with the pole becoming dislodged tempered her enthusiasm a bit.

"How does it look?"

She looked back around at Callie, with a huff. _Why was she so concerned about these little boring details? _"Looks good." She quickly copied her credit card information onto the invoice sheet and handed it back to the repairman. "Here you go. You can leave now."

"Thanks. You know, if you want me to—"

"Party time," she cut him off. "You gotta go. Bye!"

She ignored Callie's pointed look as she ushered the man down the stairs.

"What? We're on a time schedule."

"I hope Owen knows that you're having a field day with his credit cards."

"He doesn't care. Look, I'll text him." She quickly texted, _Bought New Furniture :)_, and held her phone out to Callie, showing her the text before she pushed send. "Gone. See?"

Callie simply cocked her eyebrow. "Hmm…hmm."

"What? He won't."

"Whatever. Hold this," she said, holding out a flashlight to Cristina as she moved the new TV away from the wall to view the back.

"Well, he has to like _this_."

Callie looked at the immense TV and shrugged. "I'll give you that." She went back to examining the cables behind the TV. "Can you at least try to hold the light a little closer since I'm the one setting up your TV?"

"Pushy, pushy." She held the light a little closer. _God, this was boring._ She didn't care about setting up the TV; she'd rather do something a little more fun. "I'm gonna go slide down my pole," she announced, getting up off the floor.

"Wait!" Callie protested, but Cristina had already swung one leg around the pole.

Cristina hesitated for a second, before slightly releasing her grip, quickly sliding down the pole. The rush made her laugh. _Now _that_ was fun!_ she thought. It was like the vent…only better. _And_ it was in their house. "Callie!"

The floor creaked as Callie walked over to the hole, poking her head through. "What?" she asked, irritably.

"Slide down the pole!"

She rolled her eyes at the request. "I'm not sliding down the pole."

"Come on."

"We—or should I say, I— have things to do before everyone gets here. I don't have time to slide down a pole."

"Do it!"

"Later. I'm trying to set up your TV right now."

She heard Callie's footsteps walking back across the room, so she called her name out again. The footsteps reversed their direction and she appeared in the hole again. "Slide. Down. The. Pole."

Callie paused before finally slumping her shoulders in defeat. "Fine, whatever. I'll slide down your damn pole." She swung her leg around the pole and immediately flew down to the bottom, screaming the whole way. Once she hit the bottom, she began to laugh maniacally.

"Fun, right?"

"Yes," she managed to say between her bursts of laughter.

"Let's do it again!" Not waiting for her answer, Cristina rushed up to the stairs.

Callie soon joined her. "So what are you going to do once you run out of stuff to buy?"

"I dunno."

"You just gonna hang out around here and slide down this pole all day?"

"Maybe," she shrugged, gripping the pole and sliding down.

"Cristina…" she called out from the hole before sliding down to the bottom to meet her.

"I don't know. Maybe I'll be a plumber."

"A _plumber_?" Callie asked, incredulously. "Where'd the hell you come up with that? Seriously, Cristina. You're really going to give up your career? You're Cristina Yang! You'd stab me with a pen if it meant that you got to cut."

She ignored her question and walked back up the stairs, followed closely behind by her friend. She was done thinking and being interrogated about work. She quit—there was no need to do a post-mortem of her career. She didn't want to be a surgeon and that was that. However, by the look on Callie's face, she could tell that she wasn't going to drop the conversation without some sort of response.

"I don't want to cut anymore," she evenly replied, and then escaped to the first floor, sliding down the pole.

Callie, once again, followed her down. "So what _are_ you going to do?"

"I don't know." _Have fun? Slide down my pole?_

"Have you even thought this through?"

The last vestiges of her good mood completely disappeared._ Only for every day for the past six months._ "Yes."

Callie opened her mouth to retort but closed it, letting the issue drop. She glanced down at her watch. "Crap. It's almost 5:30. We have to get going. I still haven't made the appetizers yet. Owen's gonna have to finish setting up his TV."

Cristina nodded, thankful for the interrogation to be over, and followed her upstairs into the kitchen. Callie began grabbing various items out of the fridge and cupboard, while Cristina grabbed two wine glasses and poured them each a full glass. As she was pouring, she noticed that Callie was still wearing the necklace that Arizona gave her.

"So what happened?"

"What?" Callie looked up.

"Why'd you dump her?"

She sighed. "I didn't dump her. She left me," she mumbled, taking a large swig of her wine.

"Bitch," she said, pouring Callie some more wine.

"She's not a bitch. She…I don't want to talk about it," she trailed off, downing the glass of wine. She reached over and grabbed a box of crackers and a tray. "Here—arrange these crackers or something."

Cristina, instead, opened the box and began snacking on them. _Hey, these aren't bad._

"Hey! That's the party food."

"Whatever. It's my party." She popped another cracker in her mouth. "So what are you going to do?" she asked with her mouth half-full.

Callie looked up at the ceiling, exasperated. "I…I don't know. I—"

"You should move to Brazil!"

"What?"

"Brazil. Land of da sexy people. That'd totally one-up Africa."

"I'm not 'one-upping' Arizona."

"Why not? You're free. You're single. Go do something! Explore the world! Find yourself!"

Callie raised her eyebrows. "Are you seriously giving me self-help advice, now?"

_Uh, yeah._ That gave her an idea. "Maybe, I could write a self-help book." _That could be fun._

"Oh, yeah," she laughed. "Bestseller in the making." She held out her empty glass. "Wine me."

She filled it up to the rim.

"I was going to go," she sadly admitted, taking another sip of the wine. "I was willing to give up three years of my life to go with her to Africa, even though I didn't want to go…and she dumped me in the middle of the airport. I would have gone. I didn't want to go, but I would have. I loved her so much, and she just…left me." She stopped, wiping the tears from her eyes. "But I'm single now. That'll be fun, right?" Callie tried to feign enthusiasm. "Free to have fun. Not tied down…"

"Exactly!" Cristina chimed in, trying to brighten her mood. "See, the world is your oyster. You can do anything you want." She paused, as it suddenly came to her. _Best. Idea. Ever!_ "I know what you can do!"

"What?"

"You can join the army!"

Callie rolled her eyes. "You're insane."

_No, it's a great idea_, she thought. "Go for the adventure."

Callie instead, took her wine glass away from her. "I think you need to take a break."

However, the more she thought about it, the better it sounded in her mind. "You were in the Peace Corps, right? Think of it as the badass Peace Corps. And then, you can come back to the hospital in an ambulance after setting some guy's leg in the field and jump out to meet the woman of your dreams!"

"You're ridiculous," Callie laughed.

_What? It's a great plan._ "It worked for me. I'll talk to Owen. He'll set it all up for you."

"Okay, you do that."

_So, is that a yes?_ She shrugged to herself. "I just want you to be happy, too. You don't deserve to be dumped," she admitted, sincerely.

Callie smiled back at her. "Thank you."

…

"Cristina? It's me again. Can you give me a call back and let me know you're okay? Please?" Owen ended the call and snapped the cell phone shut. "Dammit."

"Hey, don't worry, man," Mark said, walking up behind him with Callie slumped against his side. "I bet she'll show up sometime."

"Did she say where she was going?"

Callie furrowed her brow in concentration. "She did…I think. She, uh…I'm sorry," she grinned, "I'm really drunk."

"I'm taking her home."

"Because we're moving in together," Callie excitedly added. "Roomies! Yay!"

They started to walk towards the stairs before Callie stopped. "Oh, I almost forgot. Owen, don't call the army. I don't want to join. I decided to move in with Mark, instead," she slurred.

Mark laughed. "And with that, we're leaving. Hell of a party, Hunt," he said, slapping Owen's shoulder. "She'll show up. Don't worry."

Owen watched his last guests comically descend the stairs and glanced at his phone once again. Nothing.

"Tell Derek bye for me!" Callie yelled from down below.

He simply shook his head at his former drunken roommate's confused goodbye as he heard the door slam shut below him. _At least _someone_ had a good time at the party. _

He looked around the furnished room. Forty of their closest friends from the hospital had been here and not _one_ of them knew where Cristina was. Even Meredith had no clue. She'd called Derek to see if he knew where she was, but he said he was at the hospital, called back for an emergency surgery.

_Maybe I should call the police? That's what people do in situations such as these, right?_ He looked at his watch. _No, too soon._ It was only eleven. He'd wait for her for another hour and then he was calling.

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed another beer out of the fridge. He still had no idea how Cristina and Callie had furnished this entire place in a day. It made him feel slightly guilty for not helping – and slightly scared for how much next month's credit card bill was going to be.

He took another long swig of his beer, finishing it, and sat down on the couch. _Come on, Cris. Call me back. _His nerves were getting the best of him as worse and worse ideas of where she could be bounced around in his head. _She probably just went for a walk to get some fresh air because the party was too much for her_, he thought, trying to come up with a better idea.

He stared at his phone sitting beside him. _Oh, what the hell_, he thought, picking up the phone and dialing her number again. Upon the second ring, he held the phone away from his ear, hearing a repeating echo in the room. He followed the echo into their bedroom to see Cristina's cell phone vibrating across their new dresser. He immediately shut his phone and threw it onto the bed in frustration.

"Owen?"

It took him a second to realize it was really Cristina's voice in the house, before he ran out of the room to see her.

"Hey, hon'!" she slurred. "Where is everyone? D'they all go home?"

He ignored her questions and pulled her into a tight hug, so happy that she was all right. When he opened his eyes again, he was surprised to see Derek standing off to the side.

"Hunt," he nodded.

"Shepherd. Wha—"

"We were on the roof," she explained.

"On _our_ roof?" His relief was quickly turning into anger at the fact that she'd been here the entire time.

"Yep. He said that we have to refurbish our oak floors," she paused, dramatically sighing, "…because they're original and it's historic. You should talk to him about redoing the bathrooms though. He has some_ great_ ideas." She pulled away, smiling. "We could throw a decorating party then, too!"

"Good night, Hunt. See you tomorrow," Derek quietly interrupted, turning to leave.

Cristina turned in Owen's arms. "Bye, Derek!"

Owen looked down at his wife, releasing her from his hold. "I'll be right back." He jogged down the stairs to catch up with Derek, who had already slipped out the front door. He caught him just as he was about to open his car door.

"Shepherd, hold up."

Derek looked up at him in surprise. "Yeah?"

His feigned innocence only pissed off Owen even more. "What the hell was that?"

"What was—?"

"Did it occur to you to tell anyone where you went with her?_ Especially _since you had her on the roof the entire time?"

Derek nonchalantly shrugged. "She needed to get away."

"So your solution was to take her up on the roof and get her drunk? Look, I realize that you're trying to help, but I don't appreciate you going behind my back, sneaking off with my wife without telling anyone. Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"I—"

"Let me finish," he growled. "I understand you have a personal stake in this and you think you know what to do because of what happened when you quit, but you need to understand that what you went through and what she's going through are two completely different things.

"I wasn't going to let them have an intervention with her tonight. Believe me, I of all people know that that isn't what she needs right now. But I'm not going to stand back and watch her throw her career away. She didn't give up on me when I was like that. And there's no way in hell I'm going to give up her now when she needs me the most."

"I don't think that we should give up on her either, but she needs space. She doesn't need a group of people pressuring her to come back."

Owen was flabbergasted. "You think I don't know that? Christ, Shepherd. She's my wife. I'm with her everyday. And not only that, I've been through the same exact thing that she's going through right now. I wanted to give her as much time as she needed, but that plan got thrown out the window today when the Chief told me that he's required to send a letter to the board. So now, I have a clock working against me, and I don't know how long I can have him hold off on sending it—"

"I can talk to Richard for you," Derek softly replied. "I'll talk to him. See what I can do."

"I…" He let out a long breath and tried to calm down. "Thank you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go off on you. I've been so worried about what to do lately, and then she went missing…I—"

"No, I'm sorry. I should have told you. I just thought that if I got her away, let her have some space…I owe her my life, Owen. I just want to help."

"I know."

"We'll figure something out. We're not giving up on her. None of us are. And if you need someone to talk to…I'm always here."

Owen nodded appreciatively at the offer. "Thank you."

Derek nodded back, smiling.

"Good night."

"See you tomorrow," he said, closing the Cayenne's door.

Owen gave a little half wave in goodbye and walked back up the stairs.

"So d'ya make him cry?" Cristina asked, animatedly raising her eyebrows.

"What?"

She got up off the couch, teetering a bit as she walked over to him. "I saw you through the window."

"No, I…uh…we were just talking."

"Uh huh," she nodded, leaning against him. "About my intervention? It's okay. He warned me."

He reached out to steady her as she veered towards the fire pole hole. _Geez, Shepherd, how much did you two drink up there? _

She stumbled again on the new rug next to their bed. "This floor's uneven," she frowned. "I don't know why we have to keep it."

Owen had to bite his lip at her drunken observation. "Here, let's get you into bed." He reached down to remove her shoes and walked over to the dresser, picking out one of his old army shirts she liked to sleep in. When he turned around, she was already undressed.

"Here you go," he said, handing her the shirt. "I'll be right back." He walked into the bathroom. _Okay, where'd they put the aspirin?_ He foraged through the drawers before finding a large bottle of _Extra Strength Advil_. _That'll work_, he thought, grabbing a glass of water before he walked back into their bedroom.

"Take this."

She downed the pills in one sip. "So, what were you going to do? Make me sit in a circle and go around the room telling me why I have to come back?"

"I wasn't going to let them do that to you."

"That's what McDreamy said."

Owen shrugged, slightly surprised at her amused tone. He was expecting her to be angry. "Teddy wanted to, but I wasn't going to let her. Everyone's just worried about you. That's all."

"I quit. So what?"

"They just want to make sure that this is what you want." _Because this can't be what you really want_, he silently added.

Cristina just shrugged and leaned back onto the new throw pillows. "I went to the mall today. I moseyed. Because that's what you do at the mall apparently. You mosey. Bought all this furniture, too. Do you like it?" she smiled.

He tried to match her enthusiasm despite the sinking feeling in his chest. "I do. I still can't believe you did this all in one day!"

"I know! The mall is amazing. You wouldn't believe what you can buy there. And they do same day delivery. I got that TV for you," she pointed proudly to the huge TV in the living room. "I made sure it was the biggest one in the whole store."

"Thank you."

"I got the fire pole reinforced, too. Callie and I slid down it. Want to try it?" she asked, moving to get out of bed.

He gently pressed her back down to the bed with a kiss, switching off the nightstand lamp at the same time. "We'll try it out tomorrow. Okay? How 'bout we just go to sleep? It's been a long day."

"You're no fun," she pouted.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, wrapping her in his arms.

She yawned loudly, pulling his arm tighter to her chest.

He lay there, with Cristina in his arms, debating whether he should bring up the Chief's letter. Finally, he couldn't hold it in anymore. "Cristina?" he whispered.

"Mmm hmm?"

"I need to ask you something, and I know I keep asking you, but…are you_ sure _you want to quit? You know I'll support you in whatever you want to do, but the Chief told me today that he has to send a letter to the Board, telling them that you've left the program and—"

"Tell him to send it."

"Cris…"

"I don't want to be a surgeon. I don't," she firmly said as if she was instantly sobered by his question. "Tell him to send it."

He could only nod. He simply didn't know what else to say. Her mind was seemingly made up. He sighed to himself. _How am I ever going to bring her back?_

"Don't worry. I don't want to be a plumber, either."

He chuckled at her comment. "I'd still love you if you were," he whispered in her ear."

She yawned again. "I know," she mumbled.

He was about to talk to her again when he heard her start to snore. Despite Cristina's ability to sleep contently in his arms, he remained once again wide awake. He had to come up with a plan to help her—and fast. After thinking for a long time and not coming up with any solutions, he leaned forward, kissing her temple. "It's going to be okay," he whispered in her ear, pulling her closer. All he knew was that she'd brought him back from the brink when he'd had no one else; and now that their positions were reversed, there was no way that he was going to let her down now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: All characters are unfortunately property of ABC. No copyright infringement is intended – for non-commercial entertainment purposes only.**

**Author's Note: **I have to give a huge shout-out and thank you to my beta, Shli, for beta-ing this long chapter. This one takes place after 7.09.

* * *

Pain.

Lots and lots of pain.

That was the only sensation registering in Cristina's mind as she begrudgingly slit her eyes open. A piercing pain shot through her skull, causing her to immediately shut them once again.

She groaned. Everything hurt. Her head hurt, her stomach hurt, even her back hurt. She didn't even know how long she'd even slept for. Hell, she couldn't even remember how she'd gotten into bed in the first place.

_Owen._

He'd stayed up with her all night, despite being undoubtedly exhausted from working for almost thirty hours straight before that. Her only recollections of the previous night summed up to no more than of a series of horrible, embarrassing flashbacks: collapsing in a pit of drunken partiers, getting slung over Owen's shoulder, as he carried her out of Joe's, getting sick in his car, and finally, getting carried bridal-style up the stairs and into the bathroom where they stayed for the rest of their evening.

The bitter taste of bile in her mouth only served as a further reminder of what he must have endured the night before. The selfish part of her was thankful that he'd stayed with her. The other, rapidly sobering part of her was so embarrassed over her behavior that she felt like staying in bed all day.

She finally sat up on her elbows, noticing that the blinds were mercifully drawn closed, and then fell back onto the bed with a grunt. She couldn't get up yet. _Why'd I have to drink so much?_ she thought. _Because having to serve my former mentors a round of shots could be safely placed at the bottom of the "low moments in my life" list_, she answered herself.

In hindsight, bartending was a stupid idea. A really stupid idea. _What the hell was I thinking?_ Yes, Owen had suggested that she should get a job. And yes, Joe's was safe and familiar. But, in the end, she'd lied to herself when she thought she was going to be okay with serving her former colleagues. She hadn't even made it through serving them the first round before she'd resorted to drinking herself. She figured that if she was drunk, then she wouldn't have to acknowledge that they were really there and watching her.

The bitter aftertaste of the night before finally proved to be too much and Cristina sat up on the bed, causing the room to spin in lazy circles in time with the pulsing ache in her head. After it came to a halt, she trudged into the bathroom and quickly shut the curtains.

_I look like shit_, she thought, observing her reflection in the mirror, as she brushed her teeth. Thankfully, it seemed that her hair had at least survived the night's ordeal due to Owen's attentiveness. _How am I going to thank him for this?_ she thought, drying her hands as she walked out of the bathroom.

She was about to get back into bed when she heard papers quietly shuffling in the adjacent room. Despite her desire to wallow alone in her hungover misery all-day, she knew that she was going to have to make an appearance in the other room to show that she had indeed survived the night. As for why he would want to stay in the house after last night was a mystery.

But really, who was she kidding? It was Owen. Of course, he'd still be here.

She slowly walked into their newly furnished living room to find her husband sitting on the couch reading the paper.

"You're up," he quietly observed, putting his reading aside.

She squinted her eyes at the offensive light beaming through a half-shut window. "What time is it?"

"Two. How are you feeling?"

"Like crap." Cristina trudged over and collapsed facedown alongside him on the couch, burying her face in the cushions. "Why are you still here?" she mumbled through the pillow.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

She looked up to see him slightly smiling at her.

Owen reached over her and picked up a glass off the table, offering it to her. "Water?"

Unlike his many patient offers she'd rejected the night before, this time she took the glass with gratitude and gulped it down tentatively. After drinking as much as her stomach could handle, she placed the glass back on the table and lay back on the couch with a groan. "Thank you." She paused, unsure of where to begin. "I'm sorry…about last night."

"Don't worry about it."

"No. I was…" _Stupid?_ _Out of control? Lost? _"…I'm sorry."

He nodded, accepting her apology, and stroked her hair.

His gentle movements triggered her memories of the night before. Or rather, her alarmingly scant memories of the night before. "Did I do anything last night?"

Owen grinned.

_Oh, shit_, she thought. _What'd I do?_

"Besides the lap dance? Well…"

_Lap dance? Oh, god._ She groaned, burying her head back in the pillow in embarrassment. "I'm never drinking again," she apologized, unable to lift her head to look him in the eye.

"It was quite interesting. You sure can give a helluva lap dance. Although, I have to admit that I'd prefer if it was me you were giving it to rather than some—"

"Stop," she protested, weakly flinging her arm to smack him. She sat back up, only to collapse against his side. "I'm sorry."

Owen leaned over and lightly kissed her forehead. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. I know." The moment she uttered the words, she was struck by another piercing pain shooting through her head. "Why'd I drink that much last night?"

"Well, at least we know it's definitely out of your system now," he chuckled.

"You're hilarious. I hate you," she weakly shot back, still clutching her head.

"No, you don't."

"Whatever." Unable to relieve the pressure, she lay back down on the couch with her head in Owen's lap. "I think I'm dying," she groaned, rubbing her closed eyes.

"I won't let you die on me."

She opened her eyes to see him gazing down with complete love in his eyes as he stroked her hair.

"Promise," he whispered. Suddenly, he got up off the couch. "Wait here for one minute."

_Where do you expect me to go?_ she thought. _I can barely open my eyes._

He returned a few moments later with a yellow bag and IV kit in his hands.

"You have a banana bag?"

He shrugged, swabbing her arm with a disinfectant. "I could tell by the sound of Shepherd's voice that you might need one."

"He called you?"

"He watched you all night while I was at the hospital."

_Great_. She groaned. "Frickin' McDreamy. My hero. Ugh." She looked over and noticed that he'd already inserted the IV. "You're good at that."

He smiled, hanging the bag on the tableside lamp.

"Unlike, me," she continued, "who sucks at bartending. In college, I was the best. I was the best at everything," she trailed off, with a sigh. "Not anymore."

Owen finished mounting the bag and sat down next to her, wrapping his arm around her.

Cristina looked over at him, noticing a flicker of concern cross his features. "So what? You're going to sit here and babysit me all day? I promise I won't try bartending again."

"What's so wrong with wanting to spend time with my wife?"

"You're giving me that look."

"What look?" he innocently asked.

She knowingly raised her eyebrow at him, before lowering herself to rest her head in his lap again. "Whatever." Owen might be good at many things, but lying well wasn't one of them.

"How about you just lie there while I do this?"

Cristina was about to protest but quickly stopped herself when she felt his fingers begin to work their magic massaging her scalp. She nearly purred with pleasure. "Mmhmm," she incoherently mumbled. _Now_ this_ he was good at._

She was almost asleep when a sharp _beep, beep, beep _of a pager punctuated the silence. Owen paused in his massage, and she felt him reach over to silence it.

"What is it?" she asked, without opening her eyes.

"Nothing."

The hint of worry in his tone peaked her curiosity, and she opened her eyes to pick his pager off the table. _911. Come in immediately—Kepner._ She handed the pager back to him. "Go. You won't be missing anything. I'll be here…with my banana bag."

"Are you sure? Because I can call—"

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Owen furrowed his brow as he read the pager.

"What?"

"It says: 'Sorry. Never mind. I have him handled'."

"Go."

"She says that it's fine," he replied, showing her the screen.

"It's Kepner. Remember the last time she had a trauma by herself? She killed the woman and subsequently made us all go through an impromptu midnight inquisition. And _then_ she got fired."

Owen glanced back at the pager, hesitating.

"I'm hungover," she groaned. "Believe me, you won't be missing anything. I'll be right here when you get home." She held up her IV'ed arm as proof.

"Okay. I'll just go and see if they need any help, and then I'll be right back." He leaned over and kissed her forehead.

Cristina waved weakly back, watching Owen walk out of the room. He quickly returned with a fresh glass of water, a bottle of Advil, and a remote. She was about to thank him when he left the room again — this time returning with a trashcan, which he placed by her head.

"Just in case."

She rolled her eyes. "I hate you."

Owen chuckled. "Love you, too," he said, kissing her forehead again. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Cristina briefly leaned up on her elbow to watch him quickly descend the stairs, leaving her once again alone. She lay back down, shutting her eyes to the light of the day and the reality of her present situation.

She'd thought that quitting would make her happier, that it would cure her. However, instead of feeling more secure, she only felt more lost. Left without the hospital's structure, she was now completely rudderless. Honestly, she had no idea what to do now. Bartending had proved to be a brief sojourn into the ridiculous, showing everyone her flailing state. Her memory of the attendings' horrified looks as they entered the bar caused her to groan and bury her head in the couch's pillow in shame.

The simple truth was that she'd never considered becoming anything else besides a surgeon her whole life. Owen's page to the hospital had only served as yet another reminder of her loss. For the first couple weeks, her reprieve from the grind of the hospital had been a welcome relief. But now, all she could think about was how Owen and Meredith were at the hospital and how she had nowhere to go — nowhere that she belonged.

_It was supposed to fix me_, she thought. _Why is it that I only feel worse?_

…

Owen looked down at his watch: 3:15. _I'll be fast, just in and out,_ he reminded himself. He didn't want to leave Cristina alone, especially after last night. She needed someone with her, not being left alone with her infomercials all day. But after her not-so-subtle reminder of his protégée's less-than-stellar track record of handling traumas by herself, he couldn't deny that double-checking to make sure everything was under control would be a good idea.

Upon exiting the elevator, he strode into the pit and stopped short. It was dead quiet. Lexie was treating what appeared to be a broken arm in one of the trauma bays, but besides that…nothing. He immediately regretted leaving Cristina. He quickly spotted April leaning up against a nurses' station, charting, and walked over to her.

"Kepner? You paged? What've we got?"

"What?" She jumped, quickly turning around at the sound of his voice. "Oh, no. You didn't get my page? You weren't supposed to come. I paged and…you really didn't have to come," she frantically babbled out.

"Well, I'm here. So what's the problem?"

"He…well…I…" she stammered, glancing nervously back at one of the exam rooms. "I'm so sorry, sir. He kept asking me to page you because he said he knew you. And I told him that you weren't on-call. But then, he took my pager when I wasn't looking and paged you. I'm so sorry. I sent you that second page and—"

"Relax, Kepner. Is he still here?"

"Yes," she answered, handing him a chart. "He's in Trauma 3. He says he won't leave until he sees you."

_So her solution was to just leave him in there?_ Amusing, but not very effective.

He walked over to the room and peered through the small window, immediately stifling an urge to laugh. _Yes, April was _way_ over her head with this one._

"Do you know him, sir? If you don't, I can—"

"It's fine, Kepner." With a shake of his head, he opened the door and braced himself for the onslaught to come.

"Hunt!"

"Cole."

He reached out to shake his old friend's hand, only to be startled by the drastic change in his appearance. Cole was missing parts of his legs.

"How you been, Hunt? Hell, I've been askin' for you for hours, man. Finally, had to take matters into my own hands and page you myself."

"And I got that page. At home."

"Oh, sorry, bout that," he apologized, before brightly continuing, "…but now that you're here. I need your help. It's important."

Owen nodded and gestured towards his freshly bandaged legs. "Your legs?"

"What?" Cole briefly glanced down, shrugging. "My legs? Oh, an IED blew them off. Those aren't the problem. I've come to talk to you about my lucky charm. Remember when you said that I had to take it out or else it would become infected?"

"Yes."

"Lies, man. All lies. I want it back in," he paused, as Owen began to check is bandaging. "What're you doing?"

Owen continued examining what was left of his friend's legs. The right leg had been severed at the knee; the left at mid-thigh. "Checking your wounds. How long have you been back?"

"Two weeks. What can I say? I get around," he playfully responded, winking at April standing in the corner. "Anyways, back to my lucky—"

"Wound looks good," he interrupted. "You know, if you're interested in getting fit for prosthetics, we have a great Ortho who works here."

"Hunt!" Cole barked. "Have you even heard a single word out of my mouth? Da' legs aren't the problem. As I explained to 'Gorgeous' over there, I need my lucky charm back in."

"Well, I can't—"

"Two days. I was back in the pit for only two days, before the Humvee that I was ridin' in was blown to hell by a damn IED. I didn't even get a chance to fly my bird before I got my legs blown off. Five tours, three crashes, and I get taken out with some makeshift, roadside piece-of-shit? That's some bad fucking karma."

"I don't think that it was the lucky charm that—"

"Well, I'm not taking any chances," he interrupted again. "I have only two limbs left, Hunt. I lose those, and I'll have to change my name to Bob."

"Cole—" he paused, chuckling at his friend's dark humor. "I can't put that back in. You'll get an infection. It was borderline septic when I took it out."

"That's it," Cole whined, throwing his arm up. "Where's your better half? Let's get her in here. She'll talk some sense into you."

"She isn't here."

"Well, doesn't that just figure."

"Cole, I'm sorry, but—"

"Hunt," he interjected, "…we've known each other for a long time. Been through a lot of shit together. Now, as my friend, come on…just…put it back in."

"I'm not putting it back in."

"Ah, hell." Cole turned his attentions towards April, who was quietly standing in the corner. "Hey, gorgeous, want to operate on a war hero?"

April nervously glanced at Owen. "I can't sir, really—"

"'Sir'? My CO's called 'Sir'. Call me, Cole. Or even better, 'Sex on Wheels'," he said, suggestively raising his eyebrows at the rapidly reddening resident.

"Cole," Owen interrupted.

"Yes?" Cole asked, his eyes never leaving April's.

"Stop hitting on my resident."

"So…" he continued, squinting to read her jacket. "April. My, that's a beautiful name. Do you know that April's my favorite month?"

April shyly smiled, clearly enamored with Cole's attentions. "Well, it's not so pleasant in Ohio, where I grew up."

"You're from Ohio? I've _been_ to Ohio!" Cole exclaimed. "It's fate. We were destined to meet today and for you to put my lucky charm back in. See, Hunt?" He looked back at Owen, gesturing toward April, "Behold the power of the lucky charm."

Owen could only shake his head at his friend, who was now showing him his piece of metal like a "Price is Right" model. "Cole, I'm not putting that back in you and neither is Kepner."

Cole shrugged off his failed demonstration and turned back around to April. "Gorgeous, ignore my former friend over there who won't help me with this small request. Wait," he abruptly paused, squinting at her face. "Do you? Is that?" He gestured for her to come forward, as he continued to exaggeratedly squint. "I think you have something in your eye."

"What?" April touched the corner of her eye, slightly alarmed. "I don't think…" She leaned closer, allowing Cole to inspect her eye.

"Oh, never mind. It's just a sparkle."

Owen groaned. "Cole?"

"Yes?" he smiled—at April.

"Can we talk about your legs?" He knew he had to put an end to this or else he'd be in here all day.

Cole shifted back around on the examination table. "Not much to talk about in that department. But don't worry, darlin'," he winked over his shoulder at April, "…everything else is very much in working order."

"I bet she's relieved," Owen dryly remarked. "Back to your legs. Are you interested in getting fit for prosthetics?"

"I haven't really thought about it," he shrugged. "But, I guess, I might as well give it a try, right? Have to have my legs to fly again."

"Okay, well in that case, I'll get Torres down here to talk to you about it. The swelling's going down nicely, but it'll still be a week or so before she can fit you for them."

Suddenly, the examination door flew open.

"Dr. Hunt, we have an incoming mass trauma. EMTs radioed that there are eight victims, six critical."

Owen turned and nodded at Lexie. "I'll be right there, Grey."

Lexie promptly left the room.

"Where are you staying?" he asked Cole, noticing the suitcase by the door.

"Nowhere right now. Once I got out of Walter Reed, I booked the first ticket here."

_He would,_ Owen thought. He quickly considered what to do—and the subsequent ramifications for himself—before writing down his address on a piece of paper, along with Cristina's cell phone number. He also jotted down some notes on a separate sheet, handing the piece of paper to April. "Okay, Kepner, can you take him up to Torres? Tell her to give him a prelim workup and fitting for prosthetics."

"Yes, sir," she replied, clearly excited to continue to spend time with his friend.

Owen tore off the second sheet off his pad and handed it to Cole. "This is my address and Cristina's phone number. Once Torres gets done with you, just go there until we figure something out. I'll call her to let her know you're coming over."

Cole smiled brightly and clasped Owen's shoulder in a friendly embrace. "Thanks, man. I really appreciate it."

"Sure thing. I'll be home as soon as I get done with these traumas."

"One last question."

"Yes?" _Here we go…_

Cole held up his lucky charm. "Can you please put this back in?"

"No," he firmly replied. "And no one else in this hospital is going to put it back in either."

"We'll see what your wife has to say about this."

Owen could only shake his head in amusement. "I'll see you later, Cole," he said, quickly exiting the room before his friend could restart the argument.

…

Cristina snapped her phone shut and collapsed back onto the couch with a grunt. _How the hell did he get me to agree to this?_ she thought, rubbing her brow. Honestly, after last night's "performance," she was in no position to say "no" for at least a week. However, it still didn't change the fact that she was in no mood to play hostess.

Her phone's screen lit up again. A text message from Owen: _Thank you again. I'll make this up to you._ She clicked out of the screen. That had been his mantra throughout their brief phone conversation when he'd told her that Cole was coming over. That, and "I'm sorry." She counted about twenty of those.

It wasn't that she didn't want to see Cole. She really enjoyed his company when she'd first met him a couple months ago. It was just that she'd like to see him _tomorrow._

She looked over at the clock. Owen had guessed that Cole would be over in about an hour. That at least gave her time to freshen up and not look as if she was still hovering at death's door. Although, she had to admit that she was feeling much better than she did a few hours ago thanks to the wonders of Owen's banana bag.

She'd barely finished drying her hair when she heard several loud knocks on the front door. _Here we go_, she thought to herself, throwing her hair up in a quick bun. She walked down the stairs, foregoing the quicker route of using the pole, and opened the door.

"They were right!" Cole beamed up at her.

Cristina paused, momentarily caught off-guard by his new appearance. _Could've given me a heads up Owen. _"What?" She quickly recovered.

"I asked someone for directions to the prettiest girl in Seattle, and they told me to come here."

_Yep, he didn't change a bit_, Cristina thought, laughing to herself. Cole definitely never wasted an opportunity to make an entrance. She opened the door wider, allowing him room to wheel in. "Come inside. It's freezing out there."

"Not going to argue with that," he winked, wheeling through the door. Cristina stepped outside to grab his suitcase in the doorstep.

"How are you doing, Cole?"

"Freezing my ass off at the present, but I'm not complaining now that I'm here and get to spend time you. I hope you don't mind me coming over. Hunt said that he'd be right behind me. He had an incoming he had to deal with and—"

She reached and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Really, it's okay. I'm glad you came. We missed you. It's been awhile."

"I missed you guys, too. It has been too long." Cole gestured to his legs, shrugging. "Lil' different, right? I'm still getting used to it myself. But, don't worry, I'll be up on my own two metal feet in no time," he added with a smile.

Cristina looked up at the stairs and back at him. _How am I going to get him upstairs?_ she thought. "We uh…"

"The stairs?"

"I'm sorry, but there's no other way upstairs."

Cole waved her concern off. "Couple stairs never stopped me. Just call me 'Scooter'." He quickly turned and wheeled towards the stairs, stopping short of the fire pole. "Now, _that_ is fucking awesome—excuse me—really neat. Can you slide down it?"

Cristina smiled. "Yep." _That and several other things I won't mention._

"I definitely gotta try that."

Before Cristina could react, Cole carefully slipped out of his chair and began to scoot backwards up the stairs, wincing.

She rushed over to him. "Do you need any help?"

He paused, shaking his head. "Nope. I'm good. Would you mind grabbin' my wheels?" he asked, gesturing towards his wheelchair.

However, instead of following his request, she continued to slowly shadow him up the stairs.

"Really, I'm okay."

She paused, checking him, and then walked back to the first story to retrieve his wheelchair and suitcase. _Crap, this is heavy_, she thought, heaving the large metal object up the stairs. The banana bag helped, but it didn't give her enough energy to be a bellhop up a steep flight of stairs. By the time she finished her second trip up the stairs, the room was spinning and she was beginning to feel feint. She tried to help Cole into his chair but slipped. "Sorry," she apologized.

"If you just hold it still, I can get up."

Thankfully, he could. Cristina closed her eyes, willing the room to stop spinning as she held the wheelchair in place.

"Hey, you okay?" Cole softly asked.

She shook her head, trying to dismiss his concern. "I'm fine."

He cocked his head to the side. "Honey, this ain't my first rodeo. You don't have to lie to me. Judging by your complexion, the drawn curtains in this room, and that Costco-sized bottle of Advil on the table, I'd venture to guess that you partied a little too hard with my friends, Jack and Daniels, last night. But no worries, because I am _just_ the man to get you fixed up and back on your feet."

"I think that if I sit down, I'll be okay."

"Oh, no. I'm going to make you my world famous Stomach of Steel."

"Stomach of what?"

"Stomach of Steel. Bad name, I know. But, you won't find a better hangover cure around. Gave it to all my guys."

"You flew hungover?"

"Oh, no. I gotta a twelve-hour straight and narrow rule before I fly. I may break almost all the rules but not that one. No, I'd make it for my guys. Hangovers plus turbulence ain't pretty, let me tell you. But after having a little swig of my Stomach of Steel, they were good to go. You sit there or—wait—on second thought, I may need you to hand me some things."

"Really, thank you for offering," she said, blocking him from the kitchen, "…but I've already been hooked up to the banana bag Owen gave me."

Cole dramatically dropped his head in mock defeat. "Ahh, fine. Next time I'll make it for you, and you'll see the difference."

Cristina smiled, although she'd already decided that last night was the last time she was drinking for a month. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Water'd be great. Thanks."

She walked into kitchen and poured Cole and herself a glass of water. The two Advil in her pocket were calling her name. _Definitely going to need these._ She downed the pills in a single gulp.

"I need one of these!" Cole called from the living room.

_What?_ She walked into the room and cringed in embarrassment. She'd forgotten to turn off the QVC channel before she answered the door.

"These are great," Cole said, gesturing towards the TV. "I almost bought one of these. You can make everything with them."

"You watch infomercials?" she asked, handing him a glass of water.

"Nothin' else on in the middle of the night in the hospital." He shrugged. He glanced around the room, pointedly raising his eyebrow. "So…last night? Quite the party?"

"You could say that."

"Mm hmm. So was today your day off? I tried to have the nurse page you when I first came in."

"I don't work there anymore," she said in a rush, the words still feeling strange to say.

"Did you switch hospitals?"

Cristina paused, unsure of how to respond. Discussing her failed career was not on the agenda. "No. I…uh…I quit the program."

"Why'd you do that? Hunt told me that you were the best resident that he'd ever worked with."

"Did he tell you about the shooting, too?"

Cole's jovial expression instantly disappeared from his face and he somberly nodded.

"I just…" she halted, trying to find the words. "I couldn't do it anymore. So I quit."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, well….when did you get into town?" she asked, eager to switch topics.

"This morning."

"This morning?"

"Yep. Checked out of Walter Reed last night and got on the first flight out here. I wanted to—"

"Last_ night_? When did you have your surgery?"

"Well, let's see…" Cole squinted, trying to remember. "My first one was in Germany three weeks ago, but I don't really remember that…and then my second one was a little over a week ago, and then they set me free yesterday."

Cristina frowned. "You should be resting."

"Me? Rest? That word ain't in my vocabulary. But don't worry, I'm tough as nails. Hell, in a couple weeks, some parts of me will be even tougher than nails," he laughed. "Now, if I can just get your damn husband to patch me up with my lucky charm, I'll be good as new."

"You mean that piece of metal we took out of you?"

"Yeah. See? You remember it. Let me tell you it's been down hill ever since I took it out. I need it back in or who knows what else I might lose."

"Probably your shoulder blade. You'll get an infection from it."

"Ahh, don't say that. You're supposed to be on my side," he complained, pretending to be hurt.

She thought for a moment before it came to her. "You could always have them integrate it into your prosthesis."

Cole's eyes lit up. "Genius! I should've just asked you first."

Cristina couldn't help but smile at Cole who seemed genuinely ecstatic about the idea.

"So what are you going to do now instead of being a surgeon?"

"I…uh…I don't know," she mumbled, biting her lip and looking away.

"Oh, I didn't mean to get you down. That just makes two of us, then." He hit the couch, causing her to jump, and pointed to himself. "Ask me what I'm going to do now."

She simply raised her eyebrow.

"Come on. Ask me."

Cristina sighed. "What are you going to do now?"

"No. Fucking. Clue," he deadpanned.

A second passed before they both dissolved into laughter.

"Ah, dammit. I need to stop cussin' around you. Bad habit I picked up. But really, I have no idea. I guess priority number one is to get me some legs. Dr. Torres said that she'll probably be able to fix me up and then…" he shrugged. "Well, I guess that's all I've got for now."

"Callie's really talented with prosthetics. She'll do a great job for you."

"She single?"

"You're not her type."

"I'm everyone's type."

Cristina laughed. _How do I put this?_ "She doesn't play for your team."

Cole's shoulders fell in mock defeat. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers at her. "What 'bout that cute brunette from Ohio? April?"

"_Kepner_?"

"Yeah, her! She's single, right?"

"Uh, _yeah_."

"Why the face? What's wrong with her? She was sweet and gorgeous. And—"

"Didn't she annoy you?"

"Annoy me? Hell, I could spend all day with her."

"Well, that makes one of us." _He must be thinking of the wrong person. _

Cole took another sip of his water. "I'm gonna ask her out," he announced.

"_Seriously_?"

"Why not? I'm single. She's single…I'm here for a while. She's here for a while."

"But…what happened to Teddy?" she asked, remembering his goal to ask her out the last time he was in town.

Cole immediately started laughing. "Altman? Oh, man. Where do I start? Before I went back last time I was in town, I asked her out for a drink. And oh, boy—you didn't hear it from me—but that chick's got some issues."

_You don't say._ "You don't have to tell me about it."

He waved his hand. "Oh, it's not bad—just, that she got hammered and started talkin' about how she only goes for unavailable men and then just went on and on about _way_ too many issues for my brain to wrap around. I got her in a cab and then ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction."

Cristina laughed. _Smart man._

"But this April? I think we could work."

Doubtful. But she nodded anyways.

Cole smiled, apparently pleased with his little plan. He suddenly focused on something over his shoulder and wheeled towards the window. "Well, would you look at that? It's snowin' outside."

Sure enough, white flecks of snow were drifting into view.

After watching the snow for a few moments, Cole spun his wheelchair around and quickly wheeled towards the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"Outside, of course," he announced, slipping out of his chair.

"But your dressings—" she protested.

He was already on the third step. "Who cares about dressings when it's snowing outside? Come on! Let's get out there before it stops."

The doctor in her wanted to tell him no because of his dressings but seeing how excited he was at the prospect of going out in the snow… "Let me grab you a coat," she conceded, going into the bedroom to grab jackets for both of them.

"Come on, icicle girl!" Cole yelled from the stairwell. "I only have half a leg and I'm beating you."

Cristina rolled her eyes at his moniker for her and grabbed the warmest coat she could find for him.

"Oh, shit!"

She immediately ran from the bedroom. "What?"

"I forgot my wheels," he smiled up at her through the fire pole hole, sheepishly. "Would you mind?"

_Oh, for chrissakes._ She threw the jackets down the hole, missing him by a foot. _That's what he gets for scaring me half to death_, she thought, rolling her eyes as she walked over to pick up the wheelchair.

…

"Wait!"

Cole halted his wheelchair in the doorstep, spinning it around to face her. "What?"

"I have to wrap your bandage," she announced, holding up the trash bags and tape she grabbed from the kitchen.

"Ahh…fine."

Cristina quickly wrapped both of his legs, ignoring his "Jeopardy" themed humming. Once she was finished, she walked back inside to retrieve his coat. "Here," she said, holding out the jacket. "Put this on, too."

"A jacket?" Cole asked, with distaste. "I've been living in 120 degrees for the past eight years. I can be cold for a little bit."

"Put it on," she growled, not wanting to be responsible for him getting hypothermia.

"Fine, fine." He grabbed the coat from her hand —and promptly put it on backwards in protest, before he wheeled outside.

_He's like a child_, she thought, watching him look up at the sky and spin his wheelchair around in child-like glee. _Maybe Kepner and him could actually work._

"Oh, how I've missed this!"

She smiled. "First snow we've had this year."

"Because it was waitin' for me to get here," he winked. "Hell, I haven't been in snow since Hunt and Dan re-rigged that machine to make it snow and that was almost four years ago. Ahh, those were some good times."

"Teddy told me about it."

"Teddy?" Cole asked, his brow furrowing. "Altman wasn't there. That was back when we were all in Afghanistan." He began laughing, shaking his head. "Shit. That girl is crazier than a loon. See? That's why April's my new girl. She doesn't retell stories like she was there."

Cristina snorted, unable to contain her laughter.

"Hell, if it hadn't been Christmas, I bet they would've thrown all our asses in the brig."

"Why?"

He chuckled. "Because when you almost short-circuit the entire camp trying to make snowflakes in the desert…let's just say that the CO isn't that understanding. Thankfully, Squeaker was there. He was pre-law at West Point. Ahh, you should'a heard him psychobabblin' and talking our CO around in circles. By the end, he had the CO operating the machine."

"Sounds like a lot of fun."

"Oh, it was. It was almost as much fun as the time I took my chopper down through a ravine, picking up my guys in seventy mile-per-hour crosswinds, _while_ taking fire. Holy shit, that was fun!"

"That sounds insane."

"That's why it was fun."

She rolled her eyes at him, as he closed his own, clearly relishing the snow falling on him. A brisk breeze blew through the old firehouse's entrance, chilling her to the bone. "Are you ready to go back inside?" she asked, though her chattering teeth.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his hands. "One more minute. My hands aren't blue, yet," he said, showing her his hands as proof.

_Well, I am_, she thought, walking back to stand in the doorway so she could at least be halfway warm.

Cole wheeled out further to the outside sidewalk and looked up. "Helluva place you guys have here. How'd you come across it?"

"Owen found it," she yelled out to him.

"I love it." He nodded approvingly, wheeling back towards her.

"Thanks."

"You're from down south, right? LA, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

He nodded to himself in silent contemplation. "And you like living here?"

She shrugged. "It's fine."

He looked at the building once again, seemingly studying it, before he nodded his head again. "All right. I'm good. Let's head in."

_Thank god._ She walked inside, only to discover that he didn't follow. _Come on, Cole, it's freezing,_ she thought, walking back outside. She found him struggling to wheel over a small bump in the driveway.

He looked up and chuckled. "On second thought, I'm gonna need you to wheel me in. I can't feel my fingers."

…

Cristina sighed in frustration as she watched Cole painfully make his way up the stairs. His second trip up the stairs had proved not to be nearly as easy as the first. Despite his incessant assurances that he was fine, his pained face and frequent breaks told the true story. Her numerous attempts to assist him had been rebuffed and now she was reduced to watching him inch his way up.

Finally, he reached the second-story landing. As she helped him back into his chair for the third time in less than an hour, his cheerful façade fell for just a moment as he became unable to mask the clear pain he was in.

"Are you okay?" she asked, yet again.

"Yeah, just a little—" He sharply inhaled, wincing as he adjusted himself in his chair. "Ah, damn that hurts. How can they still hurt when they aren't there?"

"It's called phantom pain. A lot of amputees have it," she offered, sympathetically.

"Does it stop?"

"It should."

"Well, good. Because I was starting to get worried that I was losing my mind, too. Not that I'm complaining, because it beats the alternative, but _holy shit_ they hurt like a mother for not even being there."

"It'll get better. I promise." The words slipped out automatically. Their cruel irony was not lost on her, and she immediately felt like a hypocrite. Here she was telling Cole the same reassuring adage that everyone had been saying to her, when honestly she didn't even know if she believed it herself.

As he wheeled over to the living room, Cristina quietly excused herself to go into the bathroom to retrieve some towels and Owen's emergency kit for his leg.

"I need to check your bandages," she announced, returning into the living room and crouching next to his chair.

"Okay, doctor."

As she began to remove the trash bags, she moved slowly so she wouldn't—

"Holy mother of—!" Cole screamed.

Cristina immediately stopped, pulling back her hands in alarm. She was about to apologize when Cole's pained grimace quickly dissolved into a smile.

"Nah…I'm just playin'. Can't feel a thing. I think the cold numbed me."

Her shock quickly turned to anger. She didn't know whether to smack or yell at him, finally settling with just continuing her quick—albeit less gentle—examination in silence.

"Ahh…come on. It was funny."

_No, it wasn't,_ she thought, ignoring him. Her heart was still beating wildly in her chest from his outburst. She tried to concentrate on checking his bandage, willing herself to calm down. Finally, she was able to calm herself and look up at him.

"Sorry," he apologized, his eyes full of worry.

"It's fine." She waved off his concern and sat on the sofa.

"Thank you for checking that."

She nodded. "So…once you heal and receive your prostheses, what are you going to do? Are you going to go back and fly?"

Cole smiled ruefully. "Darlin' as much as I wish I could say that I was, the truth is that there just isn't a place in the Army for a half-legged pilot. No matter how good I am. Just how it is."

She immediately regretted asking.

"Aww, don't look at me like that. I'm good. I made it through five tours alive, which is more to say than most. What's done is done. Can't look back. Now I just gotta figure out what to do next."

"Have you thought about what else you would do?"

He paused. "Honestly? No, I haven't. My whole life—all I've wanted to do is fly. Now that I can't?… I have no idea. I've never considered being anything but a pilot. I have a degree in accounting, but there's no way in hell you'll find me cooped up in a cubicle."

"You were an _accountant_?"

"Almost. Didn't Hunt ever tell you? That's where I met him—at Harvard. Captain America was in the med school and I was in the business school. I met him through a friend of mine, and we just hit it off. We set Boston on fire."

Cristina smirked. "I bet."

Cole smiled at the memory. "Those were the days. When he graduated, I lost my wingman. We still kept in touch, though."

"So, how'd you go from becoming an accountant to flying helicopters in the Army?"

"Helluva stretch, huh? Well, I've always flown. Ever since I was a little kid, I wanted to become a pilot. Hell, I even got my pilot's license before my driver's license. But while my dream was to fly, my father wasn't too wild about the idea to say the least. He ran a hedge fund in Manhattan and expected my brother and me to take it over. So I ended up attending Harvard and my lil' brother, Jimmy, went to Princeton. We were all set to follow in his footsteps. That was, until September 11th. My father's office was on the 81st floor." A flicker of sadness crossed his face.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. Soon after that, my brother decided to join up. Jimmy went into the Rangers. He's always been gung-ho like that. Now, as for myself, I'd never even remotely considered joining the Army or any sort of military service for that matter, but I wasn't about to let my baby brother go off and join the military without me. Had to keep an eye on him, ya know? So I joined up too and ended up flying for the PJ's"

"Is he still over there?"

"Jimmy? Yeah. He's a Major now." He paused. "It's hard being here when he's over there. Hell, it's hard being away from all my guys. My PJ's became my family, too. Now that I'm out and can't fly them anymore…I don't know. I never planned on doing anything else."

His words struck a chord in her. They both sat in a comfortable silence for a while, watching the snow fall outside before she finally, tentatively spoke. "I always wanted to be a surgeon. Ever since I was little. Now, that I'm not…it's…I don't know. I guess I never planned on doing anything else, either."

"Do you regret quitting?"

"No…I don't know," she honestly admitted. "I thought it'd make me happier…quitting."

"Did it?"

"No."

Cole shrugged. "Then maybe you just need some time to step back and take a break."

"Yeah, I don't think—"

"May I be frank?"

"Sure?"

He turned towards her, tenting his fingers in contemplation. "Here's how I see it. We're two people who were born to do jobs that, for the moment, we just can't do. It's not our fault. Shit happens. But from what I've heard about you, you were born to be a surgeon. Same with me: I was born to fly. Now all we need is to find our way back. Now, speaking for myself, I don't have a fucking clue how to do it, but maybe, we can figure it out together."

She opened her mouth to speak, but Cole held out his hand, interrupting her.

"How 'bout we make a deal. Now considering that it's looking like I'm gonna be in town for a while, how 'bout we both just take some time off to try out some new things. Expand our horizons, so to speak."

"Ahh…"

Cole playfully shrugged his shoulders. "Hey, it's worth a shot, right? Worst case scenario: we'll write Seattle travel books together."

Cristina laughed._ Yeah, that'd probably be a worst case scenario_. The mere thought of her and Cole working together…it'd be like spending time with a hurricane. But, then again, it could be fun.

"So, is it a deal? Come on…"

She briefly hesitated, before nodding. "Okay, fine. Deal."

"Fantastic! Have you ever been to the Space Needle?"

"No."

He smiled. "Me neither! You ever been to the Fish Market?"

"No."

"There ya go!" He clapped his hands. "We have tomorrow planned out."

"You need to rest. You just had an operation."

Cole rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "And you say you're not a doctor._ Ha_. That'll be Thursday's agenda, then."

"We're going to have _agendas_?"

"That was the deal. You promised."

"Fine."

He beamed. "That's the spirit!"

She could only shake her head, scared of what she just signed herself up for. She reached for her bottle of Advil, stopping, noticing his suitcase by the stairwell. "Where are you staying?" she asked.

"Nowhere, yet. Once Hunt gets back, I'm going to go check into a hotel until I find a place. Dr. Torres recommended the Fairmont. She said she stayed there for a couple weeks. I wasn't plannin' on buyin' a place, but since it seems like I'm gonna be here for a while, I think I better look in the market."

"Well, you can stay here if you want, 'til you find a place."

"Oh, no. I don't want to put you guys up."

"Really, it's no problem. There's a spare bedroom downstairs. This place is huge and it's just the two of us," she offered.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

He held his hand out to qualify. "I'll be here just for a couple days 'til I find a place, and then I'll be out of your hair."

"Cole, you can stay here as long as you want."

He seemed to be at a genuine loss for words, shaking his head in disbelief. "Aww you're the best. Can I give you a hug?"

She smiled. "Sure," she said, moving across the couch to allow him to hug her. Owen's friend engulfed her in a tight bear hug.

A pointed cough behind them prompted him to release her from his hold.

"Cole, I leave you for a couple hours, and you're already moving in on my wife?" Owen asked, teasingly, placing his jacket on a chair.

"No, I'm movin' in with_ you_."

"What?" His eyes shot to Cristina for clarification.

"I told him that he's welcome to stay with us."

"She insisted," Cole added with a smile.

"Well, if she _insisted_, I guess you'll have to stay," Owen teased. "No, I'm just giving you a hard time. You're always welcome, Cole."

"Thanks, man. And don't worry, it's just for a couple days 'til I find a place. I'm gonna buy an old police station so we can have a matched set."

Owen laughed, but Cristina could tell from the look in his eye that he thought that was a great idea. _They never change. _

"So what'd Torres say?"

"She's gonna fit me in four days."

"That's great. Torres is excellent. She'll do a great job."

"That's what Cristina said," Cole said, gesturing to her with his head.

Owen walked around and sat down on the couch beside Cristina, wrapping his arm around her.

"Did you eat already?" she asked.

"Not yet. What do you want?"

"I don't care. Whatever you want."

I don't mean to wear out my welcome, already," Cole interjected. "But I would _die_ for an honest-to-god cheeseburger, right now. It's been so long since I had one. And I promise to eat it outside if it'll upset your stomach," he quickly qualified to Cristina.

"I think we can manage to get you a cheeseburger."

Cole smiled brightly again. "Aww, you're the best. Come 'ere you two! I'm gonna give both of you a hug."

…

The rest of the evening was passed with much laughter and reminiscing. They'd taken Cole to get his much-promised cheeseburger, which Cristina had politely declined to taste. Even if it was "the best cheeseburger ever made." Once they got home, she'd gone straight to bed. Although that was easier said than done as the two old friends' conversation echoed loudly up the stairwell. _We really need to put in some walls, _she thought.

Finally, she heard them murmur some sort of "good night" to each other, which was closely followed by Owen's footsteps coming up the stairs. Even in the dim light, his eyes immediately locked with hers once he entered the bedroom. "Sorry," he apologized, quickly undressing and shutting off the lights.

"Are you feeling better?" Owen softly asked, getting into bed.

"Mm hmm," she murmured.

He settled into bed, wrapping the blankets around them. "I'm sorry I sent Cole over on such a short notice today. It was just…I knew he had no place to go and—"

"It's fine. Really."

"I'll take him to look at places tomorrow. You really don't mind him staying here?"

"Not at all."

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, leaning forward kiss her.

She turned to spoon her body against him, pulling his arm around her waist.

"So what did you do with Cole all day?"

"He told me about how you wouldn't put his lucky charm back in."

Owen scoffed.

"And I suggested that Callie should integrate it into his prosthetic. I think he's going to go for it."

"Thank you."

She smiled, pleased with herself. "You're welcome. Figured I'd save you the argument. He also told me some interesting stories about how you two were quite the pair in college."

Owen groaned. "Don't believe anything he says."

"I don't know," she teased, "It sounded pretty interesting. Might have to ask him about it."

"Please don't."

"Definitely will."

"He mentioned something about you downstairs that was kind of interesting…"

_What?_ Cristina's mind whirled through their conversations from earlier in the day. "Really? What did he say?"

"That you two are going sightseeing tomorrow."

She turned to face him. "Oh. That was his idea. And don't worry, I'm not taking him anywhere until his legs heal a little more."

"Sounded pretty fun."

"He wants me to join him doing new things in the city. He said that we're going to figure out our careers together."

Owen chuckled. "Now, _that_ sounds terrifying."

She smiled back. "I don't know. It might be interesting. Maybe we'll open a bar together."

He immediately stopped laughing, cocking an eyebrow.

"_Joking."_ She rolled her eyes at him. "Believe me, lesson learned."

"I want you to do whatever that makes you happy."

She kissed him, grateful for his understanding.

"And when you're sick of taking Cole around the city in a couple days, promise me that you'll let me know. I'll take him off your hands."

"Okay, I will."

"Love you."

"Love you, too," she kissed him again, turning in his arms to spoon against him once again.

"I have to say, the kayaking with orcas sounded fun. I might have to join you two for that."

"_What?"_

Owen began laughing.

She reached around and playfully smacked his leg. "Don't say things like that. It's Cole."

"I know," he whispered in her ear. "And I wasn't joking."

_Crap. _

"I'll talk to him," he added, chuckling at her stunned silence.

"Thanks."

"Still might be worth a try," he murmured, kissing her hair.

_Maybe, _she thought, pulling his arm closer around her, enveloping herself in his comforting embrace. A ghost of a smile appeared on her face. _Yeah. It might be worth a try..._

_

* * *

_

**AN: **Hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'll try to get one up before the holidays, but if not, I hope everyone has a Happy Holidays :)_  
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